The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

to head in one direction or another, eventually coming back to London to serve at his pleasure.

“Billy, let me pour us something to drink. He won’t be here for bit.”

Rogers shook his head and waved the gun in the direction of the kitchen. “Just leave the knives alone back there,” he called out, not bothering to watch as Matt opened the refrigerator door and removed two bottles of beer. Rogers heard the caps pop as he watched Matt’s every move.

Walking back toward his seat, Matt put the opened beer down on the coffee table in front of Rogers and noticed the pistol was now lying on the cushion on top of the passport and money. He kept moving and sat down, raised his beer, and offered a toast.

“Here’s to those who wish us well, and all the rest can go to hell,” he said with an expression of sadness on his face. He could see this former military man was devastated. His legs, his head, and now his heart were damaged.

“Okay, I’ll take the deal. But I told you I would kill for you if you killed for me, so we’re not square yet,” Rogers stated, his eyes focused on the London Wheel turning in the distance.

The two men sat there quietly for ten minutes, and then Matt unlocked his cellphone and hit record. He slid it across the table to Rogers, who picked it up and reiterated the story they had just gone over. Rogers named names and left enough information on the recording to set London on its ear once the trials began and the news started to flow. Lastly, Rogers stated his full name, the date, time, and location of the recording, hit stop, and slid the phone back across the table to Matt.

Within minutes, Rogers was unconscious, the Walther still at his side.

Matt took back the phone, sent a text, and then stood up. He walked around to collect the pistol, the money, the passport, and the plane ticket. He took both beer bottles into the kitchen, drained and rinsed them, rubbed them clean with a paper towel to remove any fingerprints, then threw them in a waste bin under the expensive marble counter. Any trace of the knockout drug he’d attached to the ring on his right hand went down the drain and would be gone from his victim’s system within an hour. Good stuff, Matt thought as he checked on Rogers.

When he heard a knock at the front door, he took the pistol, confirmed there was a bullet in the chamber, and then headed down the hallway. He peered through the peephole and then opened the door, tossing the pistol to an unsuspecting visitor.

“Damn it, Matt,” Charlie yelled as he awkwardly caught the gun, checked to see that the safety was on, and then followed Matt back into the living room. Billy Rogers remained unconscious on the sofa, his back to the men and the front entry door. Matt reached into his pocket and tossed Charlie’s phone back to him. In turn, Charlie returned Matt’s phone.

“It’s all there, ready to finally take down Sinclair and the others involved in the crime and the cover-up.”

Charlie smiled and then looked to Rogers. “So, what are your thoughts on the killer lying before us?” he asked.

Matt thought for a minute and then put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I think you have two options, or at least that’s the way I see it. You can put this poor soul out of his misery here and now, and frame Sinclair for Billy’s murder. Or, you can take him into custody when the knock-out meds wear off and charge him. You’ve got the confession.”

Charlie smiled. “No Matt, there’s an even better one.”

CHAPTER TEN

“The view from up here’s a bit different from the one you have of your neighbor’s cottage,” Matt remarked. Charlie shook his head in agreement. He had already come to the same conclusion.

“And his will be of bars and prison walls,” Charlie said in a sad tone. “For the rest of his bloody life.”

“With the confession, regardless of his condition, he’ll be forever tagged as a serial killer, a mass murderer. This is sad but he’s a broken man. I feel a bit guilty lying to him the way we did but justice needs to be served.”

*

“Okay, we know the old man keeps a Glock G30 pistol in a drawer back there in his office. My team found the .45 in there when they scoped the place yesterday. Sinclair’s prints are on it. Do the job, drop the gun, and then have someone dial 999 to get the police up here. They find the body, Sinclair’s gun and fingerprints, and we have the confession Billy left on my cell.” Charlie walked into Sinclair’s office, used his pen to slide open the desk drawer, saw the pistol in place, and then pulled a black latex glove out of his pocket. Returning to the living room, he extended his right hand to his American friend and thanked him for his help with this very delicate case.

“I don’t know how you do it every time, Matt, but you do,” Charlie said in a serious tone. “Best get going to Heathrow now. I’m sure there’s a bird perched at the bar and a plane you can catch in the morning. I’ll take it from here, my friend.”

*

Matt shook his hand and smiled. “Give Lois a big kiss for me when you get home.” He walked over and stood in front of Rogers, still out cold on the sofa. He looked at the fallen young man for a minute or so and then headed for the door.

“That’s not a tear I saw in your eye now, was it, mate?” Charlie called out.

“Fuck you, Charlie,” Matt responded as he opened the door and entered the hallway. “It’s for the girls they killed,” he called out as the door slowly closed behind him.

He headed back down the stairway,