Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I’d be offended if he were wrong. “Tell him you can’t help him without the truth,” I call out though we both know he’ll never admit foul play, at least by him, to Andrew. He damn sure didn’t mind admitting what he did to me when I cornered him over it. I didn’t turn him in for that. He’s mistaken if he thinks that means I won’t take him down in the future.
Andrew lifts a hand of acknowledgment and disappears. “Wasn’t he a sheriff? He looked like he was going to puke.”
“Bad chicken,” I say, turning the attention off my brother, and back to the crime scene. “Do we know who the dead guy is?”
“No identification.”
“Teeth intact?”
“I don’t know that yet,” he confirms. “One of the guards found him and checked for a pulse. That’s when I got called in.”
“But you know there’s no identification?”
There’s a tic of irritation in his jaw. “We don’t know who he is.”
They didn’t look or they already knew, I think, and keep pushing “No one calls the FBI director instead of 911. Most people don’t have that kind of access, let alone a clear mind.”
“We aren’t dealing with most people.”
“In other words, abuse of political power gets your stamp of approval.” I don’t wait for a reply. “Who called you? My father?”
“Pocher for your father.”
“Because you’re on his payroll.” It’s not a question.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” His tone is pure irritation. “I had to report this to the president and after the directors we lost, we can’t afford to lose more, nor can we afford the bad press. I’m expected to assure the discreet handling of this problem and safety of our elected officials.”
“Who is guarding my father now?”
“State police. The president wants us. And you, Lilah. He asked for you. Apparently, you made quite the impression on him.”
“And you should have told him what I plan to tell him. I am not a fan of my father’s. I am not on his side. And I damn sure won’t cover his ass.”
“This is not good for your father or his reputation. I don’t believe he was involved.”
But Pocher might be, I think. What better way to tear away the power lifting up my father than murder? “I’m too close to the potential suspects. Any good defense attorney will use that to get a conviction thrown out.”
“Which is why I called in Special Agent Damian Leonard. You’ll consult. He’ll take the official lead and the unofficial submissive role to you.”
“You do know, I assume, Director Adams, that the victim didn’t die where he’s hanging.”
“The bullet hole in the side of his head confirms your assumption.”
A bullet hole could mean assassin. Chopped off hands typical of the mob. Any of this could lead to Ghost. Maybe. He’ll do what’s instructed during his hits if the payday is big enough. The mob being involved doesn’t exclude him, and when Kane has been walking a line between the cartel and the mob, it’s potential trouble, but unlikely. I stick to focusing on the crime scene. “I don’t see blood on his face. A gunshot wound means blood. There would be splatter.”
“It appears it’s been cleaned off.”
My brows dip. Was the killer cleaning a trophy or his own DNA? “Where are this victim’s hands?”
“We haven’t found them. I suspect that’s the idea. No hands. No fingerprints.”
“Or it’s simply sadistic,” I say. “Has anyone looked for them?”
“No,” he begrudgingly confirms.
And yet we still have no team here. It took me forty-five minutes to get here and they did nothing during that time. Unless he knows more than he’s telling me and someone here did the cleanup. In which case, fuck him. “There’s nowhere near enough blood to support the acts against the victim took place here.”
“The carpet is wet,” Adams informs me. “Seems to be water, like the killer tried to wash away the blood, but I can’t know until the testing is done.”
My brow double dip this time. “To what end?”
“No idea. It doesn’t seem very smart. The blood is just going to wash to another part of the carpet. And he’s got more of it in his body.”
“Unless it’s not the victim’s blood,” I suggest, “but we don’t even know if it’s water on the floor. And of course, we won’t, until we get a team here.”
“The victim was dead. A few minutes delay won’t change that reality. It will, however, allow for time to prepare for the press, and proper discreet crime scene processing with our agents, not the state police.”
“In other words, my father has your full protection. I’m going to ask questions and let them talk too much in the process. And to be clear, if Special Agent Damian Leanard does one thing to piss me off, what follows is on you.” I turn to walk away and I’m about to cut away from him when I hear, “Special Agent.”