Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

her hands on all of her husband’s money?”

“They didn’t sign a pre-nup. She could’ve divorced him at any time. Her involvement wouldn’t make sense.”

Maddie started crying and Cal stole into her room and picked her up to quiet her down. “Maybe not, but her ties to DJ O.T.U.S. and Ballou Baller records introduce a different dynamic. She may have had more motive than you think.”

“We just need more on this story, Cal. If you and I have all these questions, you can bet our readers do, too.”

Cal started changing Maddie as he held the phone close to his ear with his right shoulder. “Any word on what the police are saying from our crime reporter?”

“They’ve remained tight-lipped but I’ve heard that privately they still believe it’s a routine drug overdose.”

“I’ll look into it some more.”

“For the record, my money’s on Gavin.”

“Why? Because of some unsubstantiated blog post by Will Simon?”

“No, because he has the most to gain with Jameson’s death. Motive is everything, Cal.” Hale paused. “And don’t discount Simon’s reporting. I’m getting pressure to hire him depending on how this story turns out. Don’t make me regret standing up for you.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“Just do your job, Cal. Got it?”

Cal mumbled, “Yes,” and hung up. Then Maddie looked up at him and burst into tears.

He picked up her and coddled her. “It’s okay. I know how you feel.”

CHAPTER 16

NIKOLAY GAVIN SQUINTED at the sunlight piercing the horizon as he stooped into his limousine. Another day, another headache. More like another hundred headaches. No matter how hard he tried to quell the grumbling about the state of the Wizards, he couldn’t. Likewise for his business exploits as well.

There’s always something.

To torture himself further, Gavin turned on one of D.C.’s sports talk radio programs. Two of the morning radio hosts were replying a segment from Hank Bingham’s show the day before.

“During this West Coast road trip, could we just leave the team out there and start over?” Bingham asked. “Nikolay Gavin doesn’t care about these guys. It’s a hobby to him. He’s probably sitting somewhere drinking Vodka and eating caviar without a second thought about how to win this city a championship.”

Perhaps the only thing I hate more than Vodka and caviar is the sound of your voice.

Bingham’s tirade continued as he skewered everything from the team’s promotions to the fact that the Wizards last championship was in 1978.

Gavin had heard enough. He called his accountant.

“But you know nothing about running a radio station,” the accountant warned.

“I knew nothing about real estate either,” Gavin countered. “I’ll hire someone who will. Just make the offer.”

He hung up and took another long pull on his glass of wine. He wanted to fire Hank Bingham personally—on the air.

Bingham continued. “This was supposed to be the Wizards’ year. What did Gavin promise Wizards’ fans? The team would make the Eastern Conference Finals or a fifty percent discount on next year’s season tickets? Ha! I hope he’s got his accounting department ready to work overtime.”

Gavin had heard enough and turned the radio off.

He knew the blowhard was right. The team didn’t have a shot of making a deep run into the playoffs without someone to not only replace Kelvin Jameson but to supersede him. He knew Orlando’s Kyle Hutton was the answer, though the last thing he’d heard was some reluctance on the part of Orlando. But he had a plan for that, a plan he wanted to move on, but not too quickly. Though he couldn’t wait long either. The trade deadline was approaching and if he dallied, he might miss his chance altogether. It was a delicate dance, one that required Fred Astaire moves rather than his own two left feet.

He had a hundred other things he needed to do this morning, but the only thing he cared about at the moment was the Wizards. A great window of opportunity stared at him—and he was going to do whatever it took to help the team win. Anything.

No, Mr. Bingham, you’re wrong. I sit around thinking about how to make this team better all the time. I’m going to loosen the purse strings and see that I make good on my promise, while I tighten the ones around your radio station once I buy it tomorrow.

He smiled as he imagined Bingham’s face as he interviewed him—and then right after fired him.

His phone rang, interrupting his momentary bliss.

“What is it?” Gavin asked.

“Have you seen Will Simon’s story suggesting that Kelvin Jameson was murdered?”

“What?” he said. “When is this madness going to stop?”

“That’s not all, sir.”

Gavin emptied the rest of his glass of wine. “Oh, please, tell me more.”

“The blog post detailed an alleged conversation you had with Tonya Jameson.”

“What’s she running to a muckraking blogger for?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but the implications in the post are clear.”

He sighed. “And that is what?”

“That you attempted to pay her off.”

“That’s all?”

“No, I’m afraid there’s more.”

“Out with it. This conversation’s agitating me.”

“He suggested that he was murdered—by you.”

Gavin growled. “I don’t have time for this. Make it go away.”

“But that’s not all, sir.”

“There’s more?”

“I’m afraid so. You know that meddling reporter for The Washington Times, Cal Murphy?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s relentless—and he’s sniffing around in all the wrong places. He poses a threat to some of your interests as well.”

“Can you buy him off?”

“He’s not so easily swayed.”

“Then use other persuasive means. Just take care of it.”

He hung up and slumped in his seat, wishing he could punch Hank Bingham, Will Simon, and every other media person in the face. Or better yet, get them all one-on-one in his club.

CHAPTER 17

CHRIS BUTLER KEPT HIS PHONE on as instructed as he drove to Hyde Field. With the radio in his car not working, he was left to ponder in silence the sudden turn of events in his life. He wanted to know why he was targeted and not his co-pilot. Perhaps it was his bulging waistline.