“With the approval of the White River city council, Mayor Dwayne Shucker will appoint a new chief of police. Life will go on.”
“Any final words of wisdom?”
“May justice be served. May the families of the victims find peace. And may the sanctity of the law always rise above every other consideration—however powerful, however personal, however painful. God bless White River. God bless America.”
The camera slowly moved in on Flynn, looking tough-but-touched. “Well, my friends, didn’t I tell you this would be one for the history books? In my not-so-humble opinion, we just witnessed one of the most principled and heartfelt resignation speeches ever made. Godspeed, Dell Beckert!”
Concluding with a combination wave and salute in Beckert’s direction, Flynn turned back to the camera and addressed with his trademark intensity his millions of loyal fans. “I’m Carlton Flynn, and that’s how I see it. I’ll be back after these important messages.”
Gurney left the RAM-TV website and closed his laptop.
Madeleine shook her head in bewilderment. “What did you mean when you said it might only be half true that Payne was Beckert’s son and that he was the sniper?”
“I have no doubt about the son part. But I think the sniper part is less certain.”
“The slimy Mr. Flynn sure did love that resignation speech.”
“Did seem that way. Of course, it wasn’t really a resignation speech.”
“You don’t think he’s resigning?”
“Oh, he’s resigning all right. He’s resigning from the White River Police Department to run for New York State Attorney General. If I’m not mistaken, what we just witnessed was his kickoff campaign speech.”
“Are you serious? On the same day that Rick—”
The ringing of Gurney’s phone interrupted her.
He glanced at the screen. “It’s Hardwick. I suggested he listen to the Flynn show.”
He pressed Talk. “So, Jack, what do you think?”
“The fucking manipulative bastard is doing it again.”
He figured he knew what Hardwick meant, but he asked anyway. “Doing what again?”
“Riding a disaster to victory. First it was his son’s juvenile delinquency. Then his wife’s drug OD. Now a goddamn double murder by the same crazy son. Somehow in Dell’s magic hands all this crap ends up illustrating what a prince he is. Selfless defender of high ideals. This guy manages to turn every new family horror into a platform for promoting his high-minded horseshit. Give me a fucking break!”
After ending the call Gurney sat for a long moment in troubled silence. Dusk had turned to darkness beyond the den window.
“Well, what did Hardwick have to say?” Madeleine asked.
“About Beckert? That he’s a self-serving, manipulative, deceptive bastard.”
“Do you agree?”
“Oh, he’s at least all of that.”
Gurney nodded slowly. “I have a sick feeling that under those fairly common vices, there may be something much worse.”
Gurney arrived at Abelard’s a few minutes before 8:00 AM. He sat at one of the rickety little hand-painted cafe tables. Marika, looking hungover and sleepy, brought him a double espresso without asking. Her ever-changing hair color was a mix of deep violet and metallic green.
As he was savoring his first sip, his phone rang. Expecting it to be Hardwick giving some reason he couldn’t be there, he was surprised to see Mark Torres’s name on the screen.
“Gurney here.”
“I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“Not at all.”
“I heard that you were off the case.”
“Officially, yes.”
“But not completely?”
“That’s one way of putting it. What can I do for you?”
“The thing is, I got the impression you have some doubts about the way things are going.”
“And?”
“And . . . I guess I do, too. I mean, I get it that there’s a ton of evidence—videos, fingerprints, statements from informants—linking Cory Payne to the shootings and to the Corolla and to people in the Black Defense Alliance. So I have no real doubt he’s the shooter. Probably acting on behalf of the BDA.”
“But?”
“What I don’t get is the choice of victims.”
“What do you mean?
“John Steele and Rick Loomis were both loners. As far as I could see, they hung out only with each other. And unlike most guys in the department, they didn’t regard the BDA as the enemy. I got the impression they wanted to establish some kind of dialogue, to look into the accusations of brutality and evidence-planting. You see what I’m getting at?”
“Spell it out.”
“Of all the cops in the White River department—and there are more than a hundred, some of them obviously racist—it seems odd that the BDA would target Steele and Loomis. Why kill the two people who were the most sympathetic to their cause?”
“Maybe the shootings were random—and it’s just a coincidence that the victims felt that way about the BDA.”
“If just one of them was shot, I could buy that. But both?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
