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

first place they’d check would be Judge Reynolds’s shattered courtroom, the Second District Court of Eastern Middlesex.

McNulty caught his breath then looked at DeVries. “Shitty death.” He let out a long slow sigh. “This was never a distraction to set up the robbery, was it?”

DeVries turned steady eyes on McNulty. It was getting dark inside the fake courtroom but there was still enough light to see shapes and faces. The back room was a pool of darkness with the second gunman still holding onto Tilly so she couldn’t scream. DeVries raised his eyebrows. “There was an element of that.”

McNulty shook his head. “Secondary consideration. And it wasn’t about sending a message to the judge heading up the porn trial.”

DeVries watched McNulty figure it out. The blue lights flashed outside the front doors. McNulty paused. DeVries prodded. “And?”

McNulty glanced at Tilly then back at DeVries. “The message was for the gang on trial. Not to bring you into it, since you provide the girls for their industry.”

DeVries smiled. “Europeans are very popular. The UK, too.”

McNulty felt cold but had to ask. “Susan?”

DeVries shook his head. “A legitimate businessman needs a legitimate business. The adoption agency is legitimate. Susan is one of my greatest successes. Married well. Good standard of living. Perfect advertising. All very altruistic.”

McNulty’s eyes turned hard. “Until they draw back the curtain and see what you’re really doing.”

“You won’t be drawing back any curtains.”

“Didn’t close any doors, either.”

DeVries couldn’t hide the flicker of concern as he glanced toward the double doors at the back and thought about the hallway to the side door, which they’d left open for Jerry Solomon.

The patrol car crawled past the main doors of the fake movie courtroom. The crime scene tape was still intact. The doors were closed. The car eased along the front of the building. The driver scanned left and his partner scanned right. Chester Brook Orphanage on one side and Aston Martin of NE on the other. The car showroom was closed and dark, the parking lot empty apart from one car in an angled parking spot. “Stray car.”

The driver stopped and followed his partner’s gaze. “Run the plates.” Then he turned back to the orphanage. His eyes followed the wall past the main entrance and on to the side door.

DeVries locked eyes with the gunman standing between the open bags, then focused on the back wall and shifted his eyes quickly to the left, indicating the hallway that led to the outside side door. The gunman understood the question and gave a barely noticeable nod to his boss. “Locked.”

McNulty wondered when that had happened, then remembered the few minutes when his attention had been on DeVries while the gunman was supposed to be checking the bags. He must have scurried along the hallway and locked the door before returning and unzipping the moneybags. The gunman stepped sideways to change the angle of his aim. He didn’t want his boss getting hit by a stray. McNulty watched the blue lights swirling outside. No forward movement. Stationary. Checking his car?

The partner typed in the licence number on the laptop that was clamped to the dashboard. He ran the search through local databases to see if it was stolen, wanted or linked to any crimes before checking for ownership. It wasn’t stolen or wanted or linked to any crimes. The owner details flashed on the screen. “Titanic Productions, Boston, Massachusetts.”

The driver looked at the car. “The movie people filming in the courthouse?”

The partner jerked a thumb toward the orphanage. “Not the real courthouse. Worried about damage, I guess.”

“Yeah well, look how that worked out.”

The second patrol car came back along the street and stopped beside the first, driver’s side to driver’s side, the way all uniformed officers parked to chat when they were on patrol. There was nothing untoward at the far end. There was no sign of disturbance here. They checked with the dispatcher but there was no more information on the caller, just a passing motorist. “False call, good intent. Let’s call it a day.”

The blue lights were turned off and both cars spun around and headed back toward Main Street.

McNulty saw the blue flashing lights go dark and heard the engines move away. He let out a sigh. Maybe he should have told Jerry to leave the car doors open because then the police would have had to make further inquiries, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. He couldn’t begrudge Solomon anything since he’d taken two in the chest for the team. He was a stuntman but stuntmen didn’t take live fire, even if they were wearing bulletproof vests and elbow pads. There was a moan from the floor, and Jerry began to uncurl.

The patrol cars moved away from the front of the building. The gunman risked a quick glance at the man he’d shot. McNulty looked at Tilly, standing in the back-room doorway with a hand clamped across her mouth. Their eyes met and he feigned clamping his teeth. Tilly blinked.

The patrol cars would be too far away if McNulty didn’t act soon. There was only one card left to play: distraction then send up a flare. He didn’t have a flare but he did have the next best thing.

Tilly bit the hand hard. The man yelped and released her. The gunman aiming at McNulty couldn’t help looking, and that was all the time McNulty needed. He whipped the gun out of his belt and fired three blanks directly at the gunman’s face.

FIFTY-SIX

“I suppose it was better than charging in with a fire extinguisher.”

“That wasn’t funny the first time you said it.”

“No. And it isn’t funny that you keep fucking up at playing the cop you haven’t been for years. So let’s not get tetchy about the complete fucking disaster you just laid at my door.”

McNulty slumped into a chair in Susan’s kitchen. Jon Harris stood over him like he wanted to punch the ex-cop. Susan was a small, quiet shell of