Threads (Scott Brody Thriller Book 4) by Bryan Cassiday

Author:Bryan Cassiday [Cassiday, Bryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 39

Checking to see there were no cops on the interstate, Brody produced his cell phone and, using a burner app, called Detective Macready while he drove his rental toward LA, relieved his phony driver’s license with a fake name on it had fooled the CHP officer who had pulled him over earlier.

“Macready here.”

“This is Brody. I’m willing to trade information with you.”

“What could you possibly have that I want? The only thing I want is to bust you for the murder of Max Reed.”

“Has the FBI’s TEDAC determined what type of bomb killed Bambi Patterson?”

“Why should I tell you? You’re a murder suspect. Anyway, you ought to know the type of bomb, since you’re the one that blew Patterson up.”

“It wasn’t me. I’ll tell you who did it, if you trade information with me and drop the warrant for my arrest.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“You need to hear what I have to say,” said Brody, checking his rearview mirror for the presence of cops behind him on the interstate.

“Turn yourself in. Stop trying to cut a deal with me. I don’t cut deals with murder suspects.”

“You don’t want to know who blew up Max Reed?”

“I already know. I’m talking to him.”

“I didn’t know I was carrying a bomb in the bowling bag when I took it to Max Reed’s office. Rafe Calabrese used me. He’s the one that sent the bomb to Reed.”

“How convenient.”

“What?”

“Isn’t it convenient that Calabrese is dead and can’t refute a word you say?”

“What type of bomb wasted Bambi?”

Macready paused, debating whether to tell him. “All right. I’ll play along. According to TEDAC, it was C-4. The same thing you used on Max Reed.”

“Calabrese whacked Reed.”

“Why?”

Brody was sweating thanks to his rental’s AC cutting out again. In frustration Brody hammered one of the AC vents with his fist, trying to get the AC to come back on.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask him,” said Brody.

“Like I said, how convenient he died before you could ask.”

“It might’ve had something to do with a snuff film.”

“You expect me to believe this?”

“Meryl Hennessey starred in the film, and she’s gone missing.”

“Who the hell is Meryl Hennessey?”

“She was a model who went to one of Max Reed’s parties, met a porn producer there, and agreed to star in his film.”

“So?”

“I believe it was a snuff film.”

“What proof do you have?”

“She vanished without a trace.”

“That proves nothing, and you, a PI, know it.”

“What if I can get you a copy of the film?”

“If the film is of her getting killed and she is, indeed, missing, I’ll investigate it. Where can I get a copy of the film?”

“You can’t. There’s only one copy. The producer carefully screens anyone who wants to view the movie and charges a hundred grand for the privilege. If he says yes, you are invited to a secret location to watch the movie.”

“Why all the rigmarole? What kind of nincompoop would pony up a hundred K to see a movie?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Macready thought about it. “There are some sick degenerates out there.

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