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

promised not to since I’m serving as a special consultant on this case with Detective Kittrell.”

“Doesn’t he have a partner?”

“He does, but he’s sick this week, so I’ve been filling in. And part of my deal was that I couldn’t write about any of this until I got the green light from him.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Buckman started, “you didn’t write it, and you won’t be for a long time.”

“He’s going to think I’m his source.”

“Tell him it was someone else but you don’t know who. And if he wants to know who it was, he can figure it out. He’s a detective, isn’t he?”

“This isn’t going to be bode well for my future with any of the officers over there.”

“Good thing you’re not covering the police beat for the paper then, right? Besides, I’m sure you’ll find a way to patch things up and move forward.”

Cal rubbed his face with both hands and growled. He wanted to blame Ramsey or Buckman—or better yet, punch something. But he knew it was his fault. Letting his temper get the best of him was what got him into this situation in the first place. Without that incident with Ramsey, none of this would’ve ever happened.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a call from Kittrell.

Cal moaned and answered, bracing to get an earful from the detective. Kittrell didn’t disappoint.

“How could you? I trusted you, Cal. I just can’t believe you would do that to me. I’ve been on the phone with Chief Roman for the past half hour while he ripped me a new one. I just can’t—”

“I know this might be hard for you to believe, but it wasn’t me,” Cal said, interrupting Kittrell’s rant. “I swear. I would never break your trust like that. You’ve gotta believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything. We discussed this. I brought you on to help with this case under the condition that you wouldn’t write anything without my prior consent. But it’s apparent that you just used me to get a story.”

“If you only knew how much I despise Eddie Ramsey, you’d realize your latest statement was laughable. That guy exists to give journalists a bad name.”

“Oh, I doubt they need much help.”

“Look, I’m sorry this happened, but I promise you I had nothing to do with it.”

Kittrell didn’t seem interested in Cal’s apology. “You wanna know what the worst thing is about all this?” It wasn’t a question. “Rebecca Westin got on a plane last night headed for Dubai. And in case you’re not up on your extradition treaties, there isn’t one for the UAE. She’s in the wind now. And if you think I’m upset, wait until you hear from your friends over at the FBI about this.”

Kittrell ended the call, and Cal was left to ponder how everything seemed to be unraveling all at once. Not only had Ramsey’s story set back the Seattle PD’s ability to catch the person behind Sid Westin’s death, it had also severely damaged Cal’s relationship with Kittrell and the rest of the police department.

Cal took a deep breath and remained in his car. He needed to think of something—and fast.

CHAPTER 33

KITTRELL POURED ANOTHER CUP of coffee and tried to calm down. He noticed his hand shaking as he started to type on his keyboard. The caffeine? Rage? He wasn’t sure why. As this case wore on, he needed to have a clear head to decipher how to navigate this investigation. Obviously, his plan to loop in a consultant had failed.

Chief Roman rumbled past his desk before stopping and turning around. “Look, I know I was hard on you earlier. I just wanna catch the sonofabitch who did this—and I know you do, too. Focus on the murder-suicide at the garage, and see what comes up. We might not be able to pin this on Umbert, but he might not be the only one involved. It might go higher up than him.”

Kittrell nodded, his body language betraying his level of confidence. He’d been through every possible piece of evidence, and no potential lead seemed promising.

After several minutes of sifting through evidence and coming up with nothing new, Kittrell received an email. It was the manifest for the flight Umbert claimed to be on, except his name wasn’t on it. Kittrell immediately called the airline back and requested the manifests for all flights originating from London and arriving in Seattle over the past three days. Fifteen minutes later, he had them in his inbox.

Would you look at that?

According to the manifest with Umbert’s name on it, Delta Flight 179 landed in Portland around noon on Friday. The coroner’s report put the time of death in the supposed murder-suicide off Harrison Street at around 10 PM on Friday.

Why that little liar!

Kittrell hustled down the hall to Chief Roman’s office. “Chief, I think I’ve got something.”

Roman looked up from his work. “What is it?”

“Umbert told us that he didn’t come in until Saturday afternoon, which would’ve given him a great alibi. But instead of taking him at his word, I looked into it. He showed me his ticket, but I double-checked with the airline just to make sure. Get this: Turns out he was never on the flight. He flew in a whole day earlier and was here by noon on Friday. According to the coroner’s report, the time of death was round 10 PM on Friday which—”

Roman slapped his desk. “Which means that Umbert would’ve been here in plenty of time. So we’ve got motive, opportunity, and no alibi. The DA is gonna love you.”

Kittrell smiled for the first time in several days. “Yes, he is.”

“Now, you want any help bringing him in? I’ll gladly stand in for Quinn on this one.”

“Nah. I’ll handle it.”

Kittrell strode down the hallway. He hadn’t had that much pep in his step since he convinced Tara in accounting to join him for drinks one night after work.

He only hoped his happiness lasted longer