Mean Streak (The Cass Jameson Mysteries Book 4) by Carolyn Wheat

Author:Carolyn Wheat [Wheat, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504002356
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2015-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

“I can’t believe the way those reporters turned that poor guy’s death into a feeding frenzy this morning,” I said morosely. Matt and I had agreed to meet in the cool interior of McSorley’s for a much needed drink. “How do you suppose Straub’s wife is feeling?”

“You can’t let yourself worry about that,” my companion replied. “You were brilliant back there,” he went on. “The way you shifted the focus in the courtroom from Straub to TJ, the way you had Lazarus on the defensive. You really came out slugging, Cass—just the way I would have done.”

“Praise from Riordan is praise indeed,” I murmured, savoring the irony as much as I savored the vodka and cranberry juice he’d ordered for me. “I’m glad you appreciate my sacrificing my career on the altar of your acquittal.”

“Your career is safe, babe,” Matt assured me with an indulgent smile. “We’ve got Lazarus on the run and he knows it.”

“Meanwhile,” I mused aloud, “poor Dwight Straub shoots himself because he thinks I’m about to pin TJ’s murder on him, when the truth is I had no real evidence until Fat Jack gave me the whole thing on a silver platter.”

“Somebody would have found out sometime,” Matt replied. He placed his warm hand over mine and gave a gentle squeeze.

We sat in silence for a moment, a silence that might almost have been a moment of remembrance for the terrified man who’d left my subpoena with his suicide note. Then Riordan said, “And we still have to cross Eddie tomorrow on that bullshit about Jack nearly killing him.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” I admitted. It was partly the nature of trials and partly the nature of life: What had seemed so vitally important earlier now meant little or nothing, in the context of Dwight’s suicide. But Matt was right. The trial would continue, and we’d have to wipe from the jurors’ minds the image of the Hero Cop narrowly escaping with his life.

“There’s something off about that, don’t you think?” Matt said. He leaned forward on his chair, a predatory look on his face. “He’s got Fat Jack going on about killing him if he rats them out, but then when Jack has real evidence that Fitz is a rat, he just stands there and makes more threats. Why didn’t Jack pull the trigger in that alley?”

“Are you really asking why your former associate didn’t kill this guy?” I asked incredulously. “That would make a nice comment for the jury. Besides,” I went on, “are you saying you think Fat Jack is capable of murder?”

“To save his own ass? Of course he is.” Matt lifted his glass of Irish whiskey and held it in the air. “And what I’m wondering is, why didn’t he take advantage of a perfectly good opportunity to plug the little shit and walk away?”

“Because that uniformed cop came along,” I replied.

“Not for a good ten minutes,” my client countered. “Jack had plenty of time to kill Eddie if he really wanted to.

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