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

would inevitably take as bad news. Detaining and questioning someone of William Lynch’s stature wasn’t something the chief would consider lightly—and it wasn’t something the department could keep quiet.

Kittrell settled into the chair opposite of Roman and finally looked up.

“What’s the matter, Kittrell? You look like someone just shot your dog.”

“This is not the face of someone whose dog just got shot, but it is the face of someone who wants to reopen a case.”

“Why don’t you finish the one you’ve got first?”

“I think they might be connected.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “What case are you talking about?”

“The Arnold Grayson case.”

Roman threw his hands in the air and let out a string of expletives. “Do you pick at your scabs, Kittrell? Because I had two kids who couldn’t leave well enough alone when it came to their boo-boos. They would pick and pick and pick, sometimes for months on end. And eventually—boom! They’d start bleeding again, moaning and wailing like they’d been shot. Their mother would go cuckoo, running around the house, arms flailing. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if they were the ones who got hurt or if she was. And I’m this close to turning into channeling my wife and going crazy. Now just stop it with these shenanigans. That case is closed. You blew it. Now get over it and solve this next one.”

Kittrell pushed the folder across the desk toward Roman. “Chief, do you realize we never found Grayson’s DNA at any of the crime scenes? Now how is that even possible? Those were violent murders.”

“Murders with guns and knives that all carried Grayson’s fingerprints on them.”

“Don’t you think that due to the violent nature of those murders, we would’ve found his DNA at least once at those crime scenes?”

“That’s a fair question, but it’s not one that’s begging to be asked by anyone. Besides, even if you’re able to prove it was Fisher and not Grayson, what good does that do anyone? You’re just dredging up wounds for all those victims’ families—and Grayson’s family as well.”

“I bet Grayson’s family would appreciate knowing their loved one was murdered, too, instead of being forever labeled a murderer.”

“Fair enough. But I don’t see how that is all connected to this armed robbery and potentially Sid Westin’s death.”

“William Lynch.”

“What does he have to do with all this?”

“Fisher is one of Lynch’s right hand men.”

Roman threw his hands in the air. “Are you trying to get us all fired, Kittrell? Parading him in here is the last thing we need.”

“Only if you don’t want to find out the truth.”

Roman sighed and stared past Kittrell for a moment. “Okay, fine. You can question him—but not here. You go on site and question him in his office, but be discreet. Then if you think we should bring him, we’ll talk about it.”

Kittrell nodded and stood up, turning toward the door.

“Good work, Detective,” Roman said with a faint smile. “I look forward to seeing what you come back with.”

Kittrell sat down at his desk, where a package rested on top of his keyboard. He called the front desk. “Felicia, what is this package doing on my desk?”

“Cal Murphy dropped it by. He told me to give it to you. It’s a burner phone that supposedly belonged to Sid Westin.” She paused. “He didn’t tell you about this?”

“No, but thanks. I’ll contact him.”

Less than a minute later, he was smiling as he strode into Molly Morton’s office. “Got a present for you.”

She spun around in her chair. “It’s going to take more than a smile to get me to look at that for you—especially sometime this century.”

“Grande soy latte?” he said as he pointed at her.

“Now you’re talking my language.” She winked at him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

CHAPTER 40

MATT NORFOLK FLIPPED THE BALL into the air and juggled it on his foot a few times before whirling and kicking it from midfield into the upper right corner of the goal. The rest of his Seattle FC teammates had retreated to the locker room fifteen minutes ago when practice ended. But Norfolk wasn’t ready to quit. He’d sacrificed so much already just to reach this point in his career—and he wasn’t about to fall behind again.

He started to repeat the drill when he heard a commotion coming from behind him at the other end of the field. Straining to make out who it was, he identified the Seattle FC media relations director, Paul Holloway, sparring verbally with another man. Holloway failed in his efforts to stop the man who evaded him. As the man walked in Norfolk’s direction, he recognized him: Cal Murphy.

“I’m not going to ask you to stop again,” Holloway yelled at Cal.

“Good!” Cal said as he continued to march toward the middle of the field.

“I mean it. I’m going to call security and have them escort you off the premises. You’re not welcome here.”

“Excellent. That will make for some great social media viewing since I’m recording everything right now.”

“I told Buckman your credentials have been revoked,” Holloway said.

Half annoyed, half intrigued, Norfolk jogged in Cal’s direction. He waved at Holloway. “It’s okay, Paul. I’ll talk to him. I’m sure you have better things to do. He’s harmless.”

Norfolk watched Holloway huff and storm off. He then turned his attention toward Cal. “What brings you out here today, Mr. Murphy? Not enough muck to rake with the Mariners in Spring Training this week?”

Cal threw his hands up. “What can I say? I’m impartial to the beautiful game.”

“No, you’re impartial to the mystery behind Sid Westin’s death even though there’s no mystery any more. Wrong place, wrong time. It was unfortunate.”

“Yet you benefit more than anybody with his death.”

Norfolk began to juggle the ball on his foot. “It was only a matter of time before I overtook the old man anyway. He struggled in training and hadn’t lasted an entire game this season. He was on his last leg. If he didn’t get out of the way for me, he