Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) by Jack Lively (reading well TXT) 📕

the forensics add up as you say. Jim Smithson will clear and forget, even if we don’t end up identifying these two.” Ellie stood looking at the body. She said, “I have to deal with this. But more importantly, how am I going to explain you, Keeler?”

I said, “You aren’t going to explain me. It was Hank who took out the bad guys. I wasn’t even here.”

She gave me a look, turned to Hank. “That right, Hank?”

He nodded mutely.

In Ellie’s green eyes, I saw the computations happening in both the front, and the back of her mind. Like troubled water swirling in little pools and eddies. Outwardly, she shook her head, shoulders hunched and tense. This was the disbelief phase. Turned back to me, pupils dilating, verification that I was not joking. Looked at Hank and squinted, calculated the extent that he would play along. Turned back to me and blinked, relaxed her shoulders, accepted the entire thing.

Then Ellie got back to business. “You said there was a drone. Is there video?”

Which was another good question.

We got the drone out of the case and up on the dining room table. Hank was pretty good at the technology part. The drone had a memory card, like the kind of thing that goes into a phone. He hooked it up to his laptop and we could see the video files stacked up on the screen. The first one we opened was the video from just now. We saw the drone’s point of view, flying over the forest from the spot by the river. Coming to the house. It was an alien viewpoint, flying over the trees. The house grew larger in the screen, until we saw Hank standing at the window looking out. He looked anxious. Then the drone flew low over the house, skimming the roof and breaking to the other side. The drone banked then, and Helen was visible in a window, working at her computer. She hadn’t noticed the flying camera. It then came up and over the house once more, returning to the front. The living room was empty, and the drone moved into it, poking into the window. Ellie and Hank were mesmerized by the video. I made eye contact with Ellie and she grunted something about it being good that the video hadn’t had me in it.

The other file was a night shoot. Video from the drone flying over water, then approaching Beaver Falls Lodge, lit up nice and warm by the fire in the chimney and the soft luxurious lamp light. We saw the two guys playing pool. No sign of Amber Chapman, who I figured was in the sauna. We saw Jane Abrams, AKA Valerie Zarembina, sitting with the guys in the games room, a glass held in one hand, a phone held in the other. None of them seemed to notice the drone outside. The music must have masked it.

Ellie said, “Got them. This will be a wrap for the Port Morris Police. Definite clearance for Jim Smithson, and believe me, he’ll take it and be happy about it.” She looked at her phone, held it up. The screen read 3:32 p.m. “The boat, Keeler. Your guy is waiting. We said three-thirty. I’m going to be here until late. I need to make calls. You should go.”

I nodded.

She said, “Take my truck. I’ll get a ride back.”

I said, “Keep the truck, I’ll take the Jeep.”

“Can’t do that, Keeler. That’s the perp’s vehicle. We need to keep that here.”

Hank said, “I’m coming with you. We can take my mom’s truck.” He picked up a set of keys from the kitchen counter and tossed them to me.

Ellie said, “Can’t go, Hank. I need you here.”

I spun the key ring around my finger and stepped between them. “Hank’s coming, Ellie. You can interview him later.”

She looked at me, alarmed. “He’s just a kid, Keeler.”

I said, “Not any more he isn’t.”

We locked eyes. She was the first to break contact. Ellie swiveled to look at Hank. Hank nodded to her. Ellie stepped toward me and put her hand to my cheek. “You got scratched.” Her hand brushed my skin. I was looking into her eyes, green and clear.

She said, “Go get them. I’ll cover this end. Catch you on the rebound.”

I was going to say something in return, but Ellie’s phone began to vibrate and buzz in her hand. She looked down at the screen briefly, then held it up for me to see. The incoming phone number began with 978. Hank proved his nerd-hood then. He said, “Boston area code.”

I said, “It’s the guy from MIT.”

Ellie tapped the green button and put the phone up to her ear. “Ellie Chandler.”

Twenty-Nine

Ellie glanced at me as she listened to the voice coming from across the North American continent.

Her expression changed and she turned toward the house. Then spoke quietly for a while, strolling slowly away, meandering in a circle. After a minute her chin raised and she turned to me, making eye contact. She nodded meaningfully, confirmation. It was the professor from MIT. He knew George Abrams. She spoke a few sentences in a laconic tone. I figured it was her way of being precise. Then, once again, she was listening.

It took a while, more back and forth. More of Ellie listening and the other guy talking. Mostly him talking. But eventually the guy had said all he needed to say, at least for the moment. Ellie signed off professionally. The phone screen returned to standby, and her hand slipped to her side.

She came back to where I was standing with Hank. “Well, that was something.” She looked at Hank, then to me. “Should we go inside for a minute?”

Hank was standing and staring into the woods. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked bitter and hard hit. Understandable, given what he was going through. When he heard Ellie’s suggestion he turned angrily. “I don’t think I can go in there, Ellie. I mean, my mom’s dead body