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“Total bullshit,” he agrees. “If I work fast enough, maybe I’ll tie this up in time to hop a flight and stay a night with you.”
“What progress have you made since I left?” I know it’s only been six hours, but the detectives have solved cases in less time than that before. They’ve followed leads and elicited confessions in fewer hours. “Got your guy?”
“No. But we’ve caught a connection that kinda bothers us a little.”
“What kind?” I close my eyes and pretend, for a few moments anyway, that I’m not on the east coast while my husband is on the opposite. Instead, I picture him right here with me, lying at my side, and talking through a case the way we have a million times in the past. “Mercer and Wright are partners, so all of their cases connect them both.”
“Yeah, but they worked a task force once, targeting a mid-level drug dealer. Wanna guess what his name is?”
I open my eyes and glance along the length of my body to the door. I create a sight, I’m sure, double chin and strained neck. Then I whisper, “Is it Felix?”
He barks out a laugh that brings a grin to my lips as I drop back down again. “Not Felix. Two names consistently pop for us on every file, though one is even louder. Gale Ludlum.”
I silence for a beat and stare up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, should I know that name?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the pricks who put Jada in the hospital last month. And since he’s from that crew, that means he answers to Nathan Booth.”
“The douchebag who deals guns and powder through Copeland?” I shove up to sit. “Shit, Archer. Why is our cop killer connected to Jada?”
“Well… Connected to Jada, only in the sense that he deals and she buys. But Gale Ludlum is our focus right now. If we find him, we might find Booth.”
“And if you find Booth?”
“Hopefully I find him before Fletch does, because if I turn my back for more than twenty seconds, I worry my partner is going to prison.”
“Wait. But…” I think, think, think. “Who is your shooter? For Wright and Mercer’s cases, is Gale the one holding the gun?”
“Not sure yet. But Ludlum’s name is popping a lot, so we’re focusing on him for now and seeing what we see. We’re heading over to his house in a bit and knocking on the door.”
“Oh sure,” I growl. “Because if he’s the shooter, he’ll happily answer and invite you in for coffee. Archer!”
“I was kidding,” he snickers… sort of. It’s weak at best. “We’re heading over, but only to observe. Our team will be placed strategically along the street until we find a three-sixty view. Once we get that established, we’ll watch for a little while and see who visits. No one has the go-ahead to breach, and at this point, I don’t even fuckin’ care if Jada walks in; Fletch is sticking with me and we’re staying out. This is bigger than just two dead cops, and it’s bigger than a mid-level drug dealer stealing a little street cred and turf to sell on. Someone wantedthesecops dead for a very specific reason. The fact they were off-duty, and the hit was made at a place they don’t typically go, means they were called there.”
“Which implies whoever called them set them up, right?” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and study the door when I catch the movement of a shadow on the other side. My guards, I suppose. Keeping me alive. I want to roll my eyes. “Could the killer have been posing as an informant? A, ‘Meet me at Marigold Street. I’ve got some good shit for you,’ kind of thing. I can totally see your rat trading you to someone bigger, someone who pays better.”
“Garzo?” He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a click that hints at a spike in his temper. “He would never. I’m not just a cop to him.”
“No? So what are you?”
“A fuckin’ Malone. And Garz is old enough to remember what Copeland looks like when we’re running those streets. He wants to live, so he knows not to mess with me or Fletch. But you might be on to something.” He moves again, his chair squeaking. “I’m gonna try to run down Mercer and Wright’s informants. See if something jumps out at me.”
“So I suppose I should be given credit when this case hits trial,” I tease. “Since I helped you solve it.”
He chuckles. “You’re the M.E. on file, silly. You’re already getting credit.”
“Knock knock.” Felix’s childlike glee rolls from the hall and has my heart thudding to a painful stop. For a moment, anyway. Then it restarts faster than ever and brings with it a tidal wave of anger. “Everyone decent in there?”
“Are you dressed?” Archer rumbles. “Minka?”
“Yes,” I sigh, for both brothers. Then for Archer, “I’m dressed. Guess it’s dinnertime, huh?”
“He waited till nearly nine o’clock. Dude eats like the world is going to famine, but he waited for you. And made everyone else wait, too.”
“Suppose I should be pleased.” I stare toward the door as it swings open, and a freshly changed Felix appears. He was in an expensive black suit inthe car, with clean lines and glistening cufflinks that prove wealth. But now he wears sweatpants and a hoodie that has no business looking so good on his broad frame. “Your brother is here,” I speak in monotone. “Save me.”
Felix opens his arms, irrationally confident that I might cross the room at a sprint and hug him.Not happening. “Micah cooked steaks on the grill, Doc. It would be rude of you to decline a dinner invitation.”
“You certainly don’t want to be rude,” Archer sniggers. “Or the mafia might punish you.”
