Point Two by Max Ellendale

Author:Max Ellendale [Ellendale, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-15T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Shutters clicked, flashes exploded, and crime scene investigators flooded Nora's apartment. Walsh and Wilkinson spoke heatedly beside the sofa while Ben filled Moreno in over the phone. I paced between the kitchen and living room until Walsh broke away from Wilkinson to approach me.

"James," he said, waving for me to follow. He led me outside and down the front steps to stand between two vehicles. "What's this about Perkins? Did you tell the feds?"

"No, just Ben. And Maggie. He doesn't think it could be one of his people, right?" I crossed my arms over my stomach and leaned back against the car.

"Something like that." Walsh glanced toward the house then back to me. "I didn't mention Perkins' name but I shared your theory that it might be someone on the inside. Look, James—"

"I know, Walsh. I'm a crazy victim making wild accusations and they're letting me consult as a favor. But let me ask you something, when was the last time I was so wrong about something that you wanted to kill me?"

"Every case, James." He laughed a bit. "I wanted to kill you every case. But as far as wrong goes…" Again, this time his gaze lingered on the pavement while he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He offered me one and I took it. His hair, once brownish, had flecks of gray here and there. His face, well-worn from his vocation, wrinkled in new places each week it seemed. Brown eyes flickered back in my direction after a lengthy draw on the stick. "Let's keep the name between us. You and Ben do what you have to. You should know though, the Canadian vics have been moved to a more secure location."

"They weren't safe where they were anyway. Clearly…"

"Listen to me, James." Walsh pinched the end of his cigarette and tucked it behind his ear. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a hush. "Don't fuck this up. Don't point fingers until you've got proof. Everything you've got in there is circumstantial. For all we know, Agent Brody could've been a heroin-addicted sex fiend. Nothing points to Perkins. And your unlawful break-and-entry bit could make it all inconsequential."

"Heroin?" Disgust plagued my question and Walsh nodded. I dropped my arms and tried to keep the scowl from my face. "What are you talking about?"

"The pricker they found in the bedroom tested positive for dope."

"Are you kidding me? That makes this look—"

"Even more circumstantial. Nora may be gone but for all they know, she's cracked from these cases and out on a bender," Walsh continued to mutter and I wondered if he was even supposed to be telling me this. "Play your cards carefully, James."

For the first time, probably ever, Walsh's warning hit home. Perkins was no Scott Clark. He wasn't a devolving serial who spent his life hunting and killing. He was a highly skilled federal agent trained at one of the best academies in the world. He wasn't going to make this easy by any means. Who was I, in comparison? A rogue detective still recuperating from a half-life of destruction.

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