Dead Drop by Jack Patterson (reading cloud ebooks txt) 📕

Umbert remained stoic, unflappable in the presentation of the proof he demanded to see. “So maybe Rebecca and I had a fling. It proves nothing.”

Kittrell shook his head. “Except, it proves everything, creating a definitive link and establishing a potential motive.”

“A link to what?”

Kittrell motioned to Cal. “Show him what you found.”

Cal slid a piece of paper to Umbert. It was the link he established and had been so excited to tell Kittrell about. This evidence would be damning in court. “Every name given to us by the FBI just so happens to be a client of yours. Coincidence? I think not.”

Umbert clenched his fists so hard that they started to turn white. “This doesn’t prove anything. I represent over half of the pro athletes in the city. And almost all of them are the marquee players.”

Rain started to pelt the windows.

Kittrell held up his finger. “It doesn’t, except I can easily establish a believable motive. You had the means and a strong motive.”

“What is that? Kill off Sid Westin so I can have Rebecca?” Umbert looked away from Kittrell. “I already have her. Why would I need to kill her husband? Granted, I’m a slow learner, but after my second wife depleted me of most of my assets, I vowed never to marry again. And that’s one vow I intend to keep.”

“But I suspect Sid found out about what you were doing—both to his wife and with his wife. And he was going to turn you in.”

“You know, Detective, I think we’re done here. If you want to continue this conversation, I prefer to do it with my lawyer present. I tried to do this as a favor for you, but I didn’t realize you were going to try and ambush me with a murder accusation.” Umbert stood up and gestured toward the door.

Kittrell got up slowly as he collected his evidence and re-inserted it into the folder. “Sid Westin found out that his wife was in bed with you both figuratively and literally, and he threatened to turn you in.”

“I appreciate your fervor in solving this case because Sid was not only a client but a friend, and—”

“Friends don’t sleep with their friends’ wives.”

“—and I hope you catch the killer. Sid deserves justice.”

“You’re a brazen hypocrite, Mr. Umbert,” Kittrell fired back, turning toward the exit. “And I’m going to put you where you belong.”

“Good luck with that, Detective.”

“I don’t need luck. Just a little more proof.” He hit Umbert gently with his folder. “No more trips out of the country, you hear? You stick around Seattle until this is all cleared up.”

Umbert flashed a faint smile. “Yeah, I hear extradition can be a bitch sometimes.”

CHAPTER 32

CAL FOLLOWED KITTRELL as he stormed outside the building and let a string of expletives fly. The rain had subsided, but the accompanying wind hadn’t. The stiff breeze caught Cal off guard, and he staggered to his left under the force of it.

Neither man said a word for a few moments as they stewed on their interaction with Umbert. There was little doubt that he was guilty, but proving so would be a difficult matter, and Cal could see Kittrell’s frustration mounting along with the pressure to solve the case.

“What did Umbert mean by his comment about extradition? You think he’s toying with us?”

Kittrell put his hands behind his head and paced around in circles. He sighed before he answered, “I think he’s taunting us, for sure. But if we can’t get some physical evidence that ties him to the robbers, we’re just dealing with circumstantial evidence and hunches. The DA wouldn’t move to prosecute such a weak case, especially against a man who has a lot of connections among the wealthy and powerful.”

“So, tell me what we need.”

“We need to know what Sid Westin knew before he was killed, and if he knew anything at all. That would be a start. And this appears like a classic murder-for-hire plot. So, we’d need to be able to track a large payment from Umbert to somewhere else. And I doubt we’ll ever find that. Umbert isn’t stupid.”

“What you’re saying then is that he pulled off the perfect murder?”

“Perfect in that he’s never going to go to jail a day in his life if we don’t find something.”

Cal put his hands on his hips and watched the flags in the plaza in front of the building thrash violently. It’s how he’d felt the entire time chasing down this story. And coming so close to apprehending the person responsible for Sid’s death without acquiring prosecutable evidence felt painfully empty.

“Do you think there’s anything I could do to help regarding a story in the paper?” Cal asked.

Kittrell sighed. “I don’t think so. We’re probably better off gathering all our hard evidence before making another run at Umbert. I wanted to serve notice to him that we’re onto him. Maybe he’ll make a mistake. But at this point, there’s nothing you can do. I think a story would do more harm than good.”

“Okay, I’ll keep this quiet.”

“Yeah, don’t tell your editor.”

***

ON HIS DRIVE HOME, Cal called his FBI contact and friend, Agent Jarrett Anderson. Cal wanted to see if there was any more to the story about Dr. Lancaster that he leaked—and if maybe there was another story Anderson wanted to give him. Anything to avoid covering boat races on a Sunday.

“I don’t have anything else new I can release at this point,” Anderson said. “However, I can tell you that we’re close to creating a case against Rebecca Westin. One of our undercover agents captured video of her giving packages directly to a few players we’ve identified straight out of a van.”

“A white van?”

“Yeah—it was fronting as an ice cream truck. Pretty slick operation, if you ask me. I mean, other than the obvious question of ‘Why is a professional athlete’s wife driving an ice cream truck?’”

“It is a rather odd side job, isn’t it?”

“But what gets me is