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

why Sid would’ve purchased a van in the first place. It’s an even stranger choice for an extra vehicle.”

Cal came to a stop at a traffic light. “I did some digging into that myself because I was asking the same question.”

Anderson’s voice quickened, “And what’d you find?”

“Sid liked to volunteer at an inner city program that often needed help moving families. He bought a work van because it was more versatile than a truck, according to the guy he bought it from. And my guess is that Rebecca saw a creative opportunity and took it.”

“Did she admit she knew about the van?”

“No. She claims she didn’t even know it existed. But I happen to know now that her partial prints were all over it, based off a forensics report I peeked at.”

“I thought those didn’t come up with any matches.”

“Not in our database. But they came up when we did a cross agency search and found them in a European database.”

“Thanks for the info. We’re very close to busting her. It won’t be good publicity for the bureau to do it right now after her husband was killed, but we won’t wait long to act. We still have a few more details to take care of in the meantime. When we charge someone, we almost always get a conviction.”

Cal eased onto the gas as the light turned green. “You’ll keep me in the loop when you do, right?”

“Of course, Cal. Your help has been invaluable in getting us what we need to secure a conviction. Your story forced her to have some interesting conversations with Jonathan Umbert. Good thing we had a wiretap beforehand, or we might have missed some of their conversations.”

“Thanks, Anderson. I appreciate it.”

“Not sure I’ll ever be able to repay you for helping us rescue Noah Larson’s son, but I’ll keep trying.”

“If that’s what you’re trying to do, that’s your own self-imposed debt, not mine. We’re good as far as I’m concerned. But I do appreciate the tips.”

“Any time, Cal.”

Cal hung up and pulled into his driveway. He waited for the garage door to open when he received an incoming call from his wife.

“Please tell me you’re coming home soon,” Cal began. “I miss you guys terribly.”

Kelly laughed. “Running out of clean underwear, are we?”

“The dishes are piled high in the sink, if you must know.” Cal chuckled. “I’m kidding. No, I only miss you and Maddie.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you that your wish is my command. The Charlotte airport is running at full strength tomorrow, and we’ve got tickets for a flight back to Seattle.”

“Outstanding. When are you getting in?”

“Late. I’ll text you the times.” She paused. “Have you been staying out of trouble?”

Cal carefully considered his response before speaking. He wanted to be honest without causing alarm. “For the most part.”

“Cal!”

“Just a minor incident. I got roughed up in an alleyway.”

“You got beat up?”

“Beat up is such a strong way of describing what happened.”

“Assaulted?”

“Even stronger.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Nothing too major. Just got kicked in the ribs a few times.”

“By who?”

Cal sighed. “I’m not sure. The guy wore a mask and was gone before I could get a good look at him, but I think he works for William Lynch.”

“The Cars, Cars, Cars guy?”

“The one and only.”

“Why would he do that to you?”

“Apparently, he didn’t like how I insinuated that his son, Shawn, who plays for Seattle FC, was possibly using PEDs in my article.”

“People are so touchy these days.”

Cal broke into laughter. Kelly’s deadpan humor often caught him off guard, though it shouldn’t have after being married to her for a few years. “Well, I’m all right, and I doubt he’ll mess with me again unless I write a nasty article about Shawn. And if Buckman holds his ground with me, it certainly won’t happen any time soon.”

“Well, don’t write anything tonight that will get you in trouble, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cal hung up and watched a few minutes of highlights on SportsCenter before getting ready for bed. He turned over theory after theory, hoping to figure out some way that Kittrell could pin Sid’s death on Umbert. But nothing. Cal figured he might have a better opportunity in the morning after he’d had a solid night of sleep.

***

ONCE HIS ALARM CLOCK went off and jarred him awake, Cal threw on a hat, grabbed his keys, and left the house in search of a good breakfast. He’d been so consumed with getting to the restaurant that he hadn’t seen the multiple text message alerts from Kittrell. He turned on the radio and caught the sports news update on KJR.

The biggest story of the day—and perhaps the year so far—revolves around a report in today’s edition of The Times, regarding former Seattle FC star Sid Westin and his agent Jonathan Umbert. According to the paper’s sources, Umbert is a prime suspect in a strange murder-for-hire plot that resulted in Westin’s death.

“Are you kidding me?” Cal yelled at the radio as he turned it off. A wave of emotions swept over him, starting with anger and rage followed by betrayal and embarrassment. He glanced at his phone again, afraid to listen to the voice messages from Kittrell.

After he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Cal played the messages. Both of them were scathing rebukes, sent minutes apart. Kittrell’s first message would’ve sufficed, but Cal didn’t blame him for leaving a second one, just in case the first one wasn’t clear enough. He deleted both messages and then called Buckman.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this story?” Cal demanded.

“Cal, are you that dense or just stupid?” Buckman asked. “Let me break this down for you as clearly as possible: You’re not on the story. Ramsey is—and he got a tip from one of his contacts at the precinct last night about what was going down.”

“I knew what was going down.”

“Congratulations. But you weren’t on the story, so it doesn’t matter.”

“I was there and witnessed the interrogation.”

“And you didn’t call me to tell me about it?”

“I