“Looks like a robbery,” Detective Richardson said as Teffinger ducked under his umbrella. “All the money’s gone from her purse and she doesn’t have a shred of jewelry left.”
“Actually it’s a murder made to look like a robbery,” Teffinger said. “Get the tapes of every surveillance camera up and down this street and for the surrounding two blocks. I know who did it and I want to tie him to the location.”
“You know who did it?”
“Yeah. A guy named Derek Bennett.”
“How do you know that?”
Teffinger was already walking away, but said over his shoulder, “It’s a long story. I’ll brief you tomorrow.”
Sydney showed up, under an umbrella, just before he got out of the alley.
“Where you going?”
He ducked under with her.
“Bennett’s,” he said.
“You want company?”
“Come on.”
On the way to the truck he called Aspen, just to be sure she was okay.
She was.
He warned her to be careful because Jacqueline Moore had just been murdered.
They determined that Bennett wasn’t home and then parked down the street from his house to wait. The plan was to cut him off before he could get in his driveway and then scare him into committing a traffic violation.
Then they’d pull him over and search his car.
And hope he still had some of the things he took from Jacqueline Moore.
When Bennett showed up an hour later, Teffinger immediately fired up the Tundra and got on Bennett’s ass, tailgating not more than ten feet away, blowing the horn and flashing the lights.
Bennett sped up.
Panicked.
Teffinger hung with him, staying as close as he could without actually making contact.
Then Bennett did a beautiful thing.
He ran through the stop sign at the end of the street.
“Got you, asshole!” Teffinger said.
He swung into the oncoming lane and pulled alongside. Sydney powered down her window, flashed her badge and motioned for Bennett to pull over.
Instead of doing it, though, he slammed on the brakes, did a one-eighty and raced back the other way.
Teffinger put all the muscles in his leg down on the brake pedal. The truck’s ABS grinded and brought the vehicle to a straight-line stop.
He swung around as fast as he could.
But Bennett was way ahead.
“He’s going to lose us,” Sydney said.
Teffinger put the gas pedal to the floor.
“We’ll see about that.”
When Bennett got caught in traffic up ahead, Teffinger rammed him from behind. The Tundra’s hood crinkled up and shot towards the windshield. Then the airbags went off.
A pain exploded in the middle of his face.
Coming from his nose.
Probably broken.
He had no time for it and charged out the door.
Bennett was out of his car now.
Running.
But not fast enough.
And when Teffinger caught him, the little asshole made the mistake of throwing a punch that landed on Teffinger’s nose.
W hen Aspen told Christina the news about Jacqueline Moore getting murdered, Christina hardly said anything and ordered another Margarita.
“I’m never going back to that firm,” Aspen said.
Christina studied her and said, “Me either.”
“It isn’t worth it,” Aspen added. “I’ll work at McDonald’s first.”
Christina drank half the glass in one long swallow.
Then she looked directly at Aspen.
“I got a few things I should tell you,” she said. “You asked me before if I was a spy. I said no. That was a lie.”
A knot twisted in Aspen’s stomach.
“What?”
“I’ve been feeding information to Blake Gray the whole time,” she said. “He wanted me to buddy-up to you, after you wouldn’t drop your investigation, so he’d know what you were up to.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“I’m not exactly sure,” she said. “At first I thought it was just because he likes to know what’s going on in the firm. But now, with Jacqueline Moore dead, maybe there’s more to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what I mean, other than Rachel Ringer’s dead and now so is Jacqueline Moore. What I can tell you, though, is that everything you and I did and everything we learned, I told him about it.”
“That’s disturbing. I thought we were friends.”
“We are, but I owed him,” she added. “He kept me in the firm after I screwed up that case I told you about. Plus, he was pretty clear that he’d grease the skids to be sure I made partner when the time came.”
Aspen pondered it.
And sipped the drink.
Then she asked, “Do you think Blake fed all that information to Derek Bennett?”
Christina shrugged.
“I’d have to believe so. They’re pretty close.”
Aspen twisted the glass in her hand.
“So who put the note on my chair warning me that you were a spy?”