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

“Me too,” I said, picturing the toothpick Rafael often chewed rolling from one side of his mouth to the other as he thought about the implications of what he was learning. “You heard Drea. Hatred is a monster we unchain at great risk to ourselves. Guys who thrive on it haven’t learned yet you can’t make a deal with the devil without a trip to the Burn Unit.”

Five minutes later Mark called, and I went back to Pete’s room.

“I’m with Mr. Torrance and the judge,” he said. “They came over to Randall’s tonight to get a suit for his funeral and look for some papers.” He hesitated. “They found a lot of the lawyer’s clothes and her computer like she was living here too. So they picked out a dress for her. They found other stuff they couldn’t understand—or believe. So they called me.”

“Stuff related to our discussion earlier?”

I heard him swallow. “Nothing like bomb diagrams or a money trail to Tucker’s crew. No direct links to what happened today.”

“Good, because that would be evidence the judge would have to report, no matter whose heart it broke.”

“This broke the old man’s heart for sure. Randall had a spare bedroom converted into a recording studio. Soundboards, top-shelf microphones, computers and monitors, equipment to disguise voices, CDs and jump drives with recordings that made Mr. Torrance go pale. He kept asking what happened to his son.”

The new Morgan Krieger. I wasn’t entirely surprised. Had Matt inadvertently kept Randall informed about things, like Bishop’s revolver? I wondered if Randall believed the filth he promoted. Did Copperhead? Or was Krieger a means to an end for them both?

“He called me over because he wanted to know what to do. I said get rid of it, ASAP. The judge agreed. They’re upstairs right now, boxing it up. Truth be told, Mr. Torrance is sitting there with his head in his hands, crying. Judge Vassi is doing the packing and burning papers in the kitchen sink.” He chuckled. “The smoke alarm keeps going off.”

“So nothing will be left to connect Randall to anything, even if cops suspect him.”

“Maybe the lawyer left a trail somewhere, but any trace of her here will be gone. A hotel van will be here soon to take everything to the trash unit in the basement. Equipment will go into the compactor, any papers and all her clothing into the incinerator.”

“The judge loves him.” Not the worst thing, I thought, to have someone love you enough to skirt the law. “You told him we talked about this earlier. So you’re calling to ask if I still see no reason to share my theory and hurt Matt. Didn’t I sign an NDA?”

“Which we both know could blow up City Hall if this came out,” Mark said. “It’s beyond Matt now. This will ruin Mr. Torrance, destroy everything he ever did, from his company to the foundation. He’s hard-charging, sure, but he’s done a lot of good for a lot of people and still can. Before he returns to heading the company, everybody hurt today will get a nice settlement before any claim can be filed. The BPD will get a big grant. A generous bonus for DPS employees. Mr. Torrance wants to cover all your expenses too—the suite, the computers and cameras, the time your people put in. And Lucy.”

“He decided all this tonight?” I said. “While he was crying? I guess I can put together an itemized invoice, but it may take a while. Bookkeeping isn’t my strong suit. I haven’t even looked at my receipts yet.”

“No matter. I already gave him an estimate that should cover everything twice.”

“Jeez, Mark!” I paused and decided not to ask what the estimate was. “I like Mr. Torrance. Pete and I already agreed there’s no point in jamming him up. I don’t need to be bought off. Tell him to keep his money.”

“It’s not a payoff. He’s doing what he can to make things right, to make up for his son, to save his company. He’s thinking of his granddaughters too. Bad enough they lost their father. This could kick the shit out of their lives too. Poor guy’s trying to fix whatever he can. Because he can.”

My favorite justification for privilege and the punchline to an old joke about dogs.

“So you’re getting a check to share with your people,” he continued. “A big one, for services rendered, no questions asked. Just pay your taxes, all of you.”

After Mark clicked off, I was still uneasy about the money and considered tearing up the check when it came. Would Willa Winters have approved of James Torrance’s attempt to balance his son’s account? Then I thought of Lucy Bishop’s sons, innocents who had been targeted for death by Randall’s podcast.

Who was I to jeopardize their shot at college?

41

By nine the next morning, all the tech equipment had been packed and placed in my car or Yvonne’s. Yvonne would drop Manuel Ramos at his home before she took her sister back to the apartment they shared. Pete would return the van and pick up his car from the Enterprise lot. With my SUV’s rear compartment full of equipment I had borrowed from Jimmy or rented—all to be returned Monday—I had to put my two large suitcases and Drea’s three-piece set on the back seat. It felt good to be in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans, but I was sweating by the time I puzzle-pieced everything to make the door close.

When we gathered at Charmaine’s Table for the Sunday brunch, our suite was back to its original state, minus a needed thorough cleaning. While the others got a table, I stopped at the front desk to return the swipe cards and check out. The amount due on my bill was zero.

Stacked on the desk, The Buffalo News proclaimed Domestic terror attack leaves four dead at diversity conference. Drone bomb kills two. White supremacist among dead. Suspect found hanging in cell. Amanda Corso and Dennis Quinnell both had