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

“Can you believe that guy?” Quinn said. “Like he’s a perfect beat cop. I’d like to—”

“We can’t screw this one up,” Kittrell said. “Now, let’s focus and see if we can find any more clues about who these guys are. Something tells me it won’t be easy.”

Kittrell walked the outer perimeter of the main bank lobby and searched for anything the crime scene crew might have missed since they began tagging and bagging all the evidence. As he strode around the room, he tried to focus and not get distracted by Arledge’s and Young’s comments. He tried not to take it personally, though it was nearly impossible. Over the past few weeks he’d received plenty of flack for his inability to capture Arnold Grayson, a serial killer who’d murdered six high-profile businessmen in the Seattle area over the past three years. He and Quinn arrested two men on suspicion of the murders, including one who was a high-level executive at one of the city’s largest tech companies. Their blunders didn’t play well publicly as the local media branded them the Emerald City’s “Keystone Cops.” The Times ran a big picture with the same moniker in large font above them. Nobody at the department was happy that they’d drawn such negative attention, especially the chief.

Kittrell and Quinn looked even worse when Grayson committed suicide by jumping off the Space Needle. He wrote a letter apologizing to the victims’ families and listed each one, which turned out to be seven. When the media got wind that the serial killer had murdered more victims than the police first believed, it made the situation worse. Were they lying or just inept? That was the question hundreds of armchair detectives spent hours discussing on local radio talk shows.

Kittrell didn’t help matters when a pushy reporter shoved a microphone in his face as he left the downtown precinct one day.

“At least we didn’t shoot anybody,” Kittrell said. And with that comment, he sparked another media firestorm that would undoubtedly fuel the news cycle for several more days.

Yet he was determined to make the department proud this time. He wasn’t much of a soccer fan, but based on the way the city had embraced its soccer team, he knew this case was going to be a high-profile one. Everyone would want justice for Sid Westin—and he and Quinn were going to give it to them.

Kittrell stopped and looked down at something that appeared partially lodged beneath the molding at the foot of the teller counter. Stooping down, he slid the object out into the open with his pen, careful not to touch it. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and examined what appeared to be a sports card. It contained Sid Westin’s picture on one side and his statistics on the other.

Perhaps it was nothing. Or maybe it was the key to the case. At this point, it was simply a piece of evidence. But if he were going to get outsmarted again, it wouldn’t be for negligence or lack of due diligence on his part.

No, these criminals wouldn’t see him coming—and he wouldn’t have his gun holstered either.

CHAPTER 4

REBECCA WESTIN POURED herself a glass of chardonnay and shifted back and forth on the stool. She slid the bottle down the bar to her friend Elizabeth, who’d stopped by to check on her. For Rebecca, Elizabeth’s timing couldn’t have been any better.

She kept one eye on Mason in the front yard, still working on his soccer skills.

“Oh, bloody hell, when is that pathetic excuse for a husband of mine going to be home?” Rebecca groused.

“Are you sure you want me to stay here until he arrives?” Elizabeth asked.

Rebecca nodded. “It’ll keep me from murdering him.”

She swept her hand across the counter, sending a small stack of papers flying.

“I know you’re upset, Becs, but try to hold it together. If for anything, do it for Mason. Don’t let him see you like this. Be strong.”

“Is it wrong that I want him to know what a jerk his father is?”

Elizabeth patted her on the hand. “He’s not a jerk of a father, just a husband, right?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and sighed. “If you insist on keeping me from being pissed off, I just might kick you out.”

“I’m not saying you can’t be upset, but just keep it under control. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Already too late for that,” Rebecca said as she took another gulp of her wine. “I married Sid.” She teared up but waved her hands in front of her eyes.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“No. I’m not going to shed one tear for him. He’s a bastard, serving me divorce papers right in front of Mason, papers that accused me of infidelity. He needs to get off his self-righteous high horse.” Rebecca grabbed the tabloid at the end of the bar and held it up. “Here he is running around the city with all these beautiful women and just shrugs like it’s no big deal—and he acts like nothing is going on.” She slammed the paper on the bar. “He’s full of it. I know for a fact he’s had at least two affairs since we’ve been married.”

“Two affairs? Are you sure? Why are you still with him?”

“I never caught him, but I suspected him at least twice. He was acting strange, and when I confronted him about it, he denied it all. But I’m no idiot.”

“Did he ever cheat on you while you were dating?”

She shook her head. “He was the perfect gentleman. But that’s how they reel you in. They act like you’re a queen and then they dump you for the next hot woman that comes along. Men are scum, I tell you. All of ’em. And if I—”

Rebecca stopped mid-sentence when she saw Elizabeth making a strange face. She then heard the door slam shut and watched Mason shuffle toward her.

“Mum? Is everything okay?”