“We need to talk. The White River mess is getting stranger and uglier. The second cop who was shot—a young detective by the name of Loomis—just died. Kline wants me out of it. He insists that everything’s coming together, conclusive evidence, done deal. I don’t agree. If you can, meet me tomorrow morning at eight at Abelard’s. Call me if you can’t. Otherwise, I’ll see you there.”
Before putting his phone away, he checked his list of messages. There were only two he hadn’t listened to—the one from Kline and the older one from Thrasher. He had no interest in listening to either.
The phone was halfway into his pocket when it rang. Kline again. His stubborn streak urged him to ignore it again, but something else—perhaps simple logic—told him to talk to the man and get it over with.
“Gurney here.”
“I just wanted to let you know the two o’clock meeting’s been canceled.”
“Problems?”
“Just the opposite. A major coup. Dell’s been invited to appear tonight on
“The pompous blowhard on RAM-TV?”
“He happens to be the most widely recognized news personality in the world, with one of the highest rated interview shows in America. He is a
“I’m impressed.”
“You should be. It’s the perfect opportunity for Dell to set things straight—the demonstrations, the riots, the shootings—put it all in the right perspective, emphasizing the restoration of law and order. That’s what people need to hear.”
Gurney said nothing.
“You there?”
“I thought you might have been calling to let me know that Rick Loomis died.”
“I assumed you’d have heard that from someone else.”
Again Gurney said nothing.
“Not unexpected, given his condition. But now we know who did it, and the arrest is just a matter of time. You might be interested to know that the prints inside the Corolla and at the sniper sites match the prints in Cory Payne’s apartment. Torres’s guys even found a box of thirty-aught-six cartridges hidden in the back of one of his closets.”
“I’m impressed.”
“There’s more good news. Our information on the Gort twins was right. The K9 team and an assault team are closing in on them up by the quarry ridge. Backup is on the way, and it should all be over within the hour.”
“Good to know.”
Gurney’s tone seemed to finally get through.
“Look,” said Kline, “I know we’ve had some unfortunate events. No one’s denying that. Those things can’t be undone. But the right steps have been taken. The right results are being achieved. That’s the message. And Dell’s the perfect messenger.”
Gurney paused. “Do you plan to call Rick Loomis’s wife?”
“Of course. At the appropriate time. Oh, one more thing. Housekeeping issue. We need you to turn in your credentials—along with an hourly tally of your time on the case.”
“I’ll do that.”
They ended the call. They had ended their earlier conversation in the parking lot without shaking hands. They ended this one without saying good-bye.
Before putting his phone away, Gurney called Hardwick and left an additional message on his voicemail, suggesting that he watch Carlton Flynn’s show that evening. Then he deleted the earlier message from Kline on his own phone. He had no appetite for listening to the man twice.
His own plan was to drive home, review Paul Aziz’s photos, eat dinner, and then settle down for what promised to be a Dell Beckert master class in message control.
Getting Aziz’s photos from the file-sharing service Torres had used to transmit them was easy enough. Sitting at the desk in his den, he began opening them, one after another, on his laptop.
Once he was past the harrowing views of the bodies, there was little that caught Gurney’s attention until he was surprised to find closeups of the same two shiny spots he’d noted on the jungle gym crossbar.
Even more interesting were the next photos—close-ups of two separate sections of rope, showing a small, round depression in each. The sequence of the photos suggested a connection between the shiny spots and the depressions in the ropes.
He put an immediate call in to Torres and left a message describing the photos and asking for Aziz’s contact information—hoping that word hadn’t already gotten from Kline to Torres that he was off the official roster.
He was surprised to get a response less than ten minutes later—and equally surprised that the call came from Aziz himself.
“Mark gave me your number. He told me you had questions about some of the crime-scene shots.” The voice on the phone was young and earnest, not unlike Torres’s, and with no trace of the Middle East.
“Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’m curious about the two shiny spots on the jungle gym crossbar and the flat spots on the ropes—obviously photographed after the bodies were taken down. Do you recall how they were originally positioned in relation to each other?”
