Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

been low-denominations for the big money giveaway. They were hardly going to be throwing hundred dollar bills around. He didn’t mention what he already knew. He didn’t want to draw attention to that. “I thought it would look like more.”

A lone siren started in response to the gunshots. Distant and slow and no doubt delayed by the chaos already swamping Waltham PD. Another siren joined it. Sirens were good. Sirens limited the time the bad guys had to check the bags and make good their escape. The downside was that they covered any smaller sounds in the confines of the courtroom, like a second wood-panel door opening or the quiet rustle of clothing as somebody entered the room and turned on the lights.

“That’s because it is more.”

McNulty didn’t spin around. He turned slowly. Part of his mind had been wrestling with how the gunman had known McNulty would be coming out of the secret door while the rest struggled to ensure that the gunman didn’t check the bags. The first part was answered when Harlan DeVries stepped away from the light switch.

“Even I can’t withdraw ten million without questions being asked.”

The second gunman stood behind his boss with one hand clamped over Tilly Carter’s mouth. The whimpering that McNulty heard came from a long time distant but a lot closer to home—his sister at Tilly’s age. In another orphanage where McNulty had failed to protect her. DeVries allowed McNulty to experience the enormity of his failure for a few moments longer before continuing.

“And some people need paying off in cash.”

McNulty let out a sigh. “Well, they’ve been paid off now. Let the girl go.”

DeVries nodded for the first gunman to go fetch the bags, then moved toward McNulty. The quiet-spoken businessman had all but disappeared, replaced by a dark and evil man with contacts way beyond a children’s home and adoption agency. It was beginning to dawn on McNulty how DeVries had accumulated enough money to fund an orphanage and an election campaign.

DeVries smiled a sad little smile. “Two problems I can see right off the bat.” He glanced at the five-year-old, her eyes wide with fear and panic. “One, I don’t figure she’s going to see me in quite the same light after today.” Then he turned hard eyes on McNulty. “And two, now that she’s expendable there are people willing to pay a lot of money for what she can provide.”

Shockwaves of anger flared in McNulty’s eyes. The whole picture snapped into focus but he didn’t have time to digest it. With nothing but a prop gun loaded with blanks all he could hope for was a chest shot. DeVries saw the despair in McNulty’s eyes and his smile turned from sad to cold. He was about to drive the final nail home when the first gunman unzipped the bags.

“What the fuck?”

FIFTY-FIVE

Everyone turned to face the courtroom. Middle of the floor. In a clearing where Solomon’s body had knocked the chairs aside. The kneeling figure unzipped the second bag and shoved his hand deep inside its folds. “What the double-fuck?”

In the movies the dummy bag drop was always packed with neatly trimmed newspaper in money wraps with real banknotes on top. McNulty had gone for weight and bulk so it was simply stacks of folded newspapers lining the bottom and a scattering of children’s play money filling the rest. The Monopoly money was more of a joke because nobody was going to mistake it for real cash. The gunman looked at DeVries. DeVries looked at McNulty.

McNulty returned the look. “Oops.” He shrugged. “I don’t suppose the people you’re paying off will take a check?”

The sirens were growing louder as they got closer. Coming along Main Street from downtown before turning into Linden Street. There wasn’t much time. The gunshots had reduced their window. The fake money had forced their hands. Whatever they were going to do, they’d have to do it fast. DeVries didn’t look worried. He waved a hand toward the girl. “No. But they might take a deposit.”

Again the anger flushed McNulty’s neck but he kept it under control. Blue lights flashed in the distance and the sirens fell silent. The cavalry were here. They didn’t need the sirens anymore. All they needed to do was find the source of the gunfire. The gunman got up and drew his weapon. He kept his distance but aimed squarely at McNulty’s chest then tracked down to avoid the Kevlar vest.

DeVries nodded his approval then turned the lights off.

Whisky Adam Six slowed to a crawl as the marked unit drove past the Waltham District Court building. The crime scene tape stood out in the evening gloom as the sun dipped below the clouds, moving in from the west. The second marked unit drove to the far end of Linden Street, then doubled back.

The thing about responding to reports of shots fired is that unless you’ve got accurate information, the shots could have come from anywhere. And they could start again at any moment. So until they identified the location, it was a slow crawl and keep your eyes peeled. And your ears—hence, no sirens.

After all the excitement over the last few days, the obvious first choice was the courthouse. Somebody had blown up the hanging judge’s courtroom. It wasn’t a stretch to think that the gunshots might be related. The driver lowered his window and listened. His partner scanned the buildings. There was no sign of movement. There was no sound apart from their engine throbbing in low gear.

They looked at both sides of the street but doubted anyone was shooting up the CVS or Petco. The next most obvious candidate was the fake movie courthouse at Chester Brook Orphanage. The scene of the other shooting almost a week ago.

McNulty tracked the blue flashing lights through the courtroom windows. They slowed to a crawl farther along Linden Street. He put himself in their minds, uniformed patrolmen responding to a report of shots fired. The