Dead Drop Jack Patterson (best chinese ebook reader TXT) 📖

who brought up the rear, voiced directions that led them to the conference room located at one corner of the building. The room yielded a spectacular view of the city, which started to twinkle as dusk slowly gave way to night.

“I like to come up here and think," Umbert said. “Nothing like a glorious vista to spark the imagination.”

“Or hatch a murder plot,” Kittrell said as he spun around and glared at Umbert.

“Detective, I can assure you that I have nothing to hide because I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Kittrell pulled out the chair at the head of the conference room table and sat down. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

CHAPTER 30

MATT NORFOLK LACED UP HIS CLEATS as he glanced around the Seattle FC locker room. Most of the players were getting ready by going through their pre-game rituals, consisting of everything from reading the Bible to jamming to heavy metal through a pair of ear buds to playing a ukulele. There was a little bit of something for everyone. But today was different. Norfolk couldn’t help but feel a twinge of loss since Sid Westin wasn’t next to him. They’d always been put next to each other in the locker room for as long as he’d been on the squad. Instead, Tim Peterson occupied the small space next to him.

Norfolk stared at Peterson, whose pregame ritual included eating an apple and reading a copy of GQ magazine. Yet Peterson had his head buried in his hands.

“Cheer up, mate,” Norfolk said. “Just because you’re in the dead man’s locker doesn’t mean you’re next.”

Eyes narrowing, Peterson turned slowly toward Norfolk. “I’m not in the mood, Peterson.”

“How about you get your mind on the game because it’s clearly elsewhere.”

Shawn Lynch walked by their locker and overheard the conversation. He tapped Norfolk on the shoulder. “Go easy on him, Norfolk. He just found out he’s been suspended for using PEDs.”

Norfolk leaned back, mouth agape. “Wow, Peterson. If you’re using PEDs, you ought to at least look like you take them.”

Peterson didn’t say a word, instead choosing to let his fists do the talking. He took a wild swing at Norfolk that landed on his chin. Caught off guard, Norfolk crashed to the floor. He felt his face for blood before getting to his knees. But instead of standing up, Norfolk lunged at Peterson’s knees. Despite giving up forty pounds to Norfolk, Peterson quickly escaped Norfolk’s grasp and took the more advantageous position. He’d often bragged about his three state championship titles in wrestling while he was in high school, but the rest of the team mocked his claim since he was from Montana, and they joked that he only had to beat one other wrestler to win it. But nobody was laughing now.

Peterson wrapped his arms around Norfolk’s head and started to apply pressure.

“I bet you’re the one who did this to me,” Peterson said.

“Did what?” Norfolk said as he struggled to escape Peterson’s grasp.

“You took your drug test the same time as me. You switched them.”

“That’s insane. How could I have done that? Besides I’ve never used any PEDs.”

Peterson released him, but it appeared only to be a tactical move.

“I watched you buy a Screwball from the ice cream truck at the Shawnmon Bay Park every week. You think I don’t know what’s going on here? You think I don’t know what’s going on with some of the people on this team?” Peterson glared around the room.

“I swear, Tim-Bo. You gotta believe me. I had nothing to—” Norfolk said before he went limp.

Peterson let go of Norfolk, who’d been put to sleep. He stood up and walked around the room, eyeing each one of his teammates closely. “I know each one of you who is involved in this mess. And you better believe I’m going to make sure you all go down with me.”

Javier Martinez walked over to Peterson and took him by the arm, whispering in his ear. “Calm down, man. It’s okay. I believe you.”

CHAPTER 31

KITTRELL LEANED BACK in his chair and tapped his pen on his notebook. “I have to be honest with you, Mr. Umbert, this doesn’t look good for you. We have a mountain of evidence pointing in your direction.”

Umbert shifted in his seat before he began to make his plea. “Why on earth would I possibly kill off one of my biggest cash cows? Sid Westin was hooking me up with a substantial amount of money each year off his contract. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Where were you on Thursday?” Kittrell asked.

“I was in London, checking out a prospective client. I already told you that.”

“Can anyone corroborate your story?”

“Just look on social media. You’ll see pictures of me in London during that time. There’s no way I could’ve faked that.”

Kittrell stared out the window at the dark sky and took a deep breath before continuing, “Since you have so much money, Mr. Umbert, perhaps you hired someone to take care of some business for you while you were away.”

“This is absurd.”

“It’s not as absurd as you wish,” Kittrell said as he opened a folder in front of him. “Are you aware that the FBI is investigating Rebecca Westin in an alleged doping scheme with a—” Kittrell glanced at his notes—“Dr. Bill Lancaster?”

“I read the paper.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What does this have to do with Sid Westin’s death and that bank robbery?”

“I was hoping you could tell us.”

“Seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. A client of mine is dead, gunned down senselessly in an armed robbery, and his wife is being investigated by the FBI in a doping scheme—yet you question me, as if I had anything to do with all this.”

“Speaking of connections, Mr. Umbert, I believe your connection to the Westin family is far greater—and far more complicated—than you’re letting on.”

“Please, Detective. Just spit it out.”

Kittrell grabbed a half-dozen sheets and slid them across the table to Umbert. “Any of these