Arrow's Rest Joel Scott (best authors to read .txt) 📖

than the broken remains of the glass bottles they thought had been used as the firebombs. They had yielded nothing. The perps had used gloves; or maybe fingerprint DNA wouldn’t have survived the extreme heat. Clarke didn’t know for sure but it seemed likely. All of which immediately reminded him of the grisly spectre of Joseph’s curled remains, something he’d tried hard to forget. He’d seen a lot of violent deaths of innocents over the years and had never learned how to put them behind him. This was one he’d carry forever.

Joseph’s identification was the last piece of the puzzle they were waiting on. Once they received confirmation on his DNA, the investigation would move on to “the next stage,” another euphemism for a “cold case,” the “back shelf,” or the “back burner.” Pick your metaphor. The old saw about a crime and the following twenty-four hours was often correct. The chances of solving it dropped dramatically as the days passed. The thought saddened Clarke, and he took out the last page from the Xerox machine and slammed the lid shut.

He gathered up the copies and stowed them in his briefcase. He’d share them with Merlynn; maybe she would be able to spot something he’d missed. He thought it unlikely, but what did he have to lose? It was all dead against the rules anyway; if the department learned he’d taken copies of active files out of the building without proper authorization, his ass would be hung out to dry. Clarke wasn’t worried about any of that. He’d always assumed that given his lifestyle he wouldn’t live long enough to collect on his annuity in any case, and the closer his day of retirement approached, the more surprised he became. He’d never given a moment’s thought to what he would do when that time arrived. During his compulsory appointment, the department psychiatrist had said Clarke would miss his job when it was over, and he’d laughed in her face. He picked up his briefcase and took a last look around the office. He had a strong premonition that he would never return.

“Are you sure you really want to do this?” Merlynn asked. “Run all the way up there to look for the Blue Harp?”

“One hundred percent,” Clarke replied. “We’ll call it a vacation cruise with a purpose.”

They’d been discussing the case for hours, starting at the very beginning with the attacks on the women and then Cat’s sister and everything that followed, from the disappearances of Newcombe and Sullivan and the probable death of Bill Lacey to Annie’s kidnapping and the East End arson. They both agreed that someone was cleaning house. Where they disagreed was about who that person or persons might be. It was straightforward as far as Clarke was concerned. While there might not be a clear-cut connection that would stand up to scrutiny in a court of law, there was a lot of evidence that Albright was involved in it right up to his thick neck. Clarke knew it in his gut, one hundred percent.

Merlynn, being an ex-prosecutor, was pickier on the fine points. In her opinion there was nowhere near enough to make a valid case. Only some circumstantial evidence that pointed to Albright but did not prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. “Guilt by association is not a valid argument in a court of law,” she said. She did, however, agree with Clarke that someone was cleaning up.

“Cui bono,” Merlynn said. “Who benefits? Why not Ronald Ivery? He has all the connections, his name keeps popping up, and you’ve linked him to the men who kidnapped Annie. Your informant told you he saw him involved in a drug buy along with that giant who ferries him around. Granted that was a few years ago, and maybe just for personal use, but there were rumours. I’m sure you’ve heard some of the same ones I did.”

Clarke nodded in reluctant agreement. He had. That Ivery might have been a player in opioids back at the beginning, beyond the personal use which he admitted to.

Merlynn continued, “And then there was that bar fight between those men we now know were dealers and his man Rodgers. What possible reason could there be for that incident other than some kind of dispute over drugs? It’s not as if they ran into each other by accident in the course of their day-to-day social interactions. The place was an absolute dive. Not a place Rodgers would ever have gone to without some compelling reason.”

“You make some good points,” Clarke admitted. But his conversation with Ivery had led him to believe that the man in the wheelchair was telling the truth. He had no real evidence for his conviction, just his gut instinct. He didn’t bother to subject his intuition to Merlynn’s scorn.

“I met him not all that long ago, you know,” Merlynn said. “At some black-tie benefit or other. Legal Aid, I think. I’d given a short speech of introduction to the main speaker, and he was in the audience and came up and introduced himself afterwards. Said he’d been an acquaintance of my late husband and they’d had some minor business dealings together.”

She spread her hands. “That was news to me. He offered his belated condolences and even gave me his card. It’s probably still buried somewhere in my purse. We talked for a few minutes; he seemed a bit shy and lacking in confidence for such a successful man. Lonely, I’d guess. Rodgers was there with him. The whole episode seemed a little strange and also a bit sad at the time. I felt sorry for him.”

“Did you ever call him?”

“No. I thought about it, but what would we even have talked about? My late husband? No thanks. Not to disrespect Ralph, but that particular part of my life is long dead and buried.”

Clarke extended a meaty hand. “The card, please.” He waited while she searched and then took it and dialled the number. “It’s Detective