Page 60 of Daybreak

“That’s it,” he said and pushed the list toward Whistler.

“Fair enough,” Whistler said. “And here’s your gun. No hard feelings?”

Dixon breathed a sigh of relief as he reached for it, and the moment Dixon took it, Whistler grabbed his hand and shoved the gun to Dixon’s temple.

“No… Don’t… You said—”

Whistler squeezed Dixon’s hand and trigger finger, just like he’d done with Garza and Letourneau. The little handgun went off, splattering blood and brains from the exit wound all over the left side of the desk and onto the floor.

Dixon slumped forward—his forehead hitting the desk with a thump—still holding the weapon.

Whistler carefully inched the informant list away from the spreading blood and stepped back to eye the scene, then nodded. Damn, I am good. How sad. Dixon just committed suicide.

But instead of a suicide note, it now appeared that Dixon had left an incriminating list behind instead, maybe as a last dig at the cops who tried to put him away. He was gone, but his intention was to take them down with him.

Satisfied by the look of the crime scene, he quickly exited the office, closing the door as he went, and ducked down the hall to the room housing the estate security system. He quickly pulled up the video feed and deleted everything that had been recorded right after Dixon walked into the house and Whistler was seen driving away. Then he turned off the entire camera system and hustled down the stairs. As he was going out the back door, he reset the house security alarm, then ran through the alley to get to where he’d parked, and drove himself home.

Gunpowder residue would be on the sleeve of his chauffeur’s uniform, and blood could likely be on his glove and shoes. So as soon as he got home, he tossed the shoes and driving gloves into his kitchen trash, dumped some leftover Thai food on top of it, and carried it to the dumpster. Then he gathered up his uniform, dropped it off at an all-night cleaners, and went home.

Chapter 12

Gunner was dreaming of Holly when he woke, rolled over to see what time it was, and sent her a text.

Best night of my life. Love you. See you as soon as I can.

Then he rolled out of bed and went to shower and shave. A short while later, he was in the kitchen waiting for the Keurig to deliver his morning coffee when his phone dinged. It was a text from Nora.

Check your email.

Nora had returned the video. His heart skipped when he realized he could see a man’s face behind the glare on the windshield, but it didn’t help. He didn’t know who he was. Either it was somebody cruising to find a house to rob or a straggler who didn’t get the word on the voided bounty hunting. He needed to talk to Andy Samuels, but the man was in CCU, and Gunner didn’t know if he was even conscious, let alone able to talk.

He sent Nora a thank-you for the trouble and made a note to follow up on getting an ID from existing mug shots. He got up to get his coffee, poured a bowl of cereal, and was eating it standing up at the island when Holly sent him a text.

I couldn’t sleep. You make me crazy. I won’t be worth a nickel at work today. Love you, Gunner. So much. Stay safe for me.

He was grinning from ear to ear as he sent a heart-shaped emoji. She loves me. Hot damn, she loves me. He wolfed down the rest of his cereal and coffee and was getting ready to get back to his laptop when he heard sirens, and then a lot of voices, and looked out the front window. The moment he saw the patrol cars, he grabbed his badge, clipped it to his belt, and was out the door.

Patrol cars were already parked in front of the house three doors down. He knew the elderly couple—a retired postman and his wife, and he could hear an ambulance siren approaching in the distance. He jogged down to the scene and flashed his badge to the officers outside the house.

“Detective Kingston, Homicide. I live three houses down. What’s going on?” he asked.

“Robbery. Old couple tied up. Cleaning lady found them and called it in.”

Gunner immediately thought of the video Nora just sent back. “Who’s in charge?”

“Detective Harmon. He’s inside with the family.”

At that point, the ambulance arrived. The EMTs rushed in, and a few minutes thereafter, brought the elderly couple out on gurneys, loaded them up, and drove away with sirens blaring.

Gunner moved past the officers and into the house where Detective Harmon and his partner were moving through the crime scene. Harmon looked up as Gunner walked into the room.

“Hey, Kingston. Long time, no see. There’s nobody dead here.”

“I live three houses down,” Gunner said. “I don’t know where you are in the investigation, or what intel you’ve gained from the victims, but I have some video from one of my security cameras that you might want to see. When you finish here, I’ll show you what I have. The house number is 440. Third house down on the west side of the street.”

Harmon’s eyes widened. “Thanks, man. We’ll be there shortly.”

Gunner jogged back to his house, pulled up the first video he’d captured on his camera, then went back to the living room to wait. A few minutes later he saw them coming up the steps and got up to let them in.