Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

called from his car to invite them to the pool party. Built like their father, Casey and Conrad, twelve, also shared his crooked smile and blue eyes. The twin gene was not the only dominant characteristic in the Donatello DNA.

When we got back to the suite, the dinner I had ordered through Matt was waiting for us. Wrapped in towels, most of us sitting on the carpet, we ate and talked and joked, relieved the day had passed without incident. After dinner, Sam left as everyone else took turns in the bathroom and dressed for the sleep that would come only after another hour or two of work.

I got back to LJ’s Krieger piece at about nine. Wendell Q. and Nelson R. McTiernan. Father and son had lived together for eleven years after the sudden death of Wendell’s wife Candy, for which he blamed the Indian-American ER doctor who failed to revive her after a heart attack. After getting a modest malpractice settlement that avoided lengthy litigation, Wendell invited his divorced, spottily employed only child to move back home. Nelson had no children. Both men were in the KKK for a time and later in the militia movement. An FBI investigation into another hate group had linked Krieger to the IP address in the McTiernan home but neither man had run afoul of the law anywhere. Also, it seemed unlikely either had the skills needed to mask their IP address. To my surprise, the last page revealed both men were dead, Wendell from lung cancer three years ago and Nelson eighteen months ago from a self-inflicted shotgun blast that sent the roof of his mouth through the roof of his skull.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, sitting forward on my pullout.

Drea had thought the current Morgan Krieger was different from the original. Though the McTiernans had never officially been identified as the podcaster, it seemed likely at least one of them was. But with both in the ground, there was a new Dawn Warrior on the web, one capable of masking his IP address.

I was thinking about all this—wondering who or where the new guy could be—when my phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my shorts. Phoenix.

“Hi, honey,” I said. “I was gonna call you in a little while. The conference went fine and Lucy’s family is safe but—”

“Gideon, hush,” she said. “I know about Lucy and the arrests. In a moment you’re going to get a phone call from someone who called me first because he thought you would hang up on him. Take the call and listen to him. Then call me back. Love you, baby.”

Half a minute after she clicked off, the phone buzzed in my hand. I did not recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Mr. Rimes? It’s Eli Aronson. You may not remember me—”

“I remember you,” I said, lowering my voice to keep from bothering Cissy, who was at the monitor station with Pete as her sister napped in his bed. “Lawyers who try to beat me up in court kind of stick in my brain like Gorilla Glue.”

“Sir, it’s my job to present—”

“I know, I know. A zealous defense of your client.” I sighed. “What can I do for you, Mr. Aronson?”

“First, you should know this is a burner. I get them from time to time for private communications with clients.”

I sat up straighter. “A disposable phone means you don’t trust something.”

“Correct.” He took a deep breath. “Ms. Trinidad said I could trust you, Mr. Rimes. But if you ever tell anyone what I’m about to say came from me, I will deny it, even under oath. I can’t risk disbarment.”

“All right,” I said, suppressing my impulse to feign surprise at a lawyer willing to lie.

“Are you recording this call?”

“No, especially not if it can blow back on Phoenix.”

Aronson was quiet a long time, maybe thinking about that, maybe about what he could or couldn’t say. Then he sighed. “I was assigned a new client this evening. I won’t tell you his name, but during my first talk with him, your name came up.”

“My name? How?”

“He spent most of the day in custody, waiting for a lawyer who never showed up. He was kind of frantic when I got there and wanted to talk first thing about what I could do to get him out of this mess.” Aronson hesitated. “He began to tell me things he thought could get him a better bargain with the DA.” He paused again. “One of the things he mentioned was your name. I take confidentiality seriously but sometimes…”

“Sometimes you have a duty to warn.”

“Yes. But I have a duty to my clients too, even the scum.” His voice was taut.

“Before you warn me of whatever he said, let me tell you what I know.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to confirm what I say, but your client’s name is either Carey or Robbins. My guess would be Carey. Because I trust the arresting officer not to have revealed me as the source of the heads-up that got them busted, I am also sure they had no idea I saw them interrogated. So when my name came up with you, it must have been out of the blue.”

“Yes.”

“He may have said something about my being at PAUSA Art House or a guy named Carter John, or Mars, shot to death outside the library yesterday. Your client was there and then got arrested for breaking into the home of the woman who shot his friend. He may have mentioned other names, like Wally Ray Tucker or Drea Wingard. Or even Copperhead.” I paused. “You see the snake on his arm?”

“Yes.” Then, a sudden intake of breath when he realized he had identified his client.

I waited a few seconds before I continued. “Does this man know you’re Jewish?”

“He asked once he got my name straight.” Aronson laughed, bitterly. “He said he wouldn’t hold it against me if I could get him a good deal.”

“Mighty white supremacist of him,” I said. “You could recuse yourself.”

“I