So it hadn’t been a silent debate.
Jude stood and handed Mack a glass filled to the brim with water. He chugged it in three gulps, its coolness a balm to his raging headache. He lowered the glass, his hand shaking slightly. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Good thing you didn’t waste your breath earlier,” Jude tossed over his shoulder from the small kitchenette, where a pot of coffee sat on a low flame.
Emil lounged comfortably in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, twirling a pen in his fingers. Mack didn’t know what to make of the difference in his demeanor. Rather than try to figure it out, he rose from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. By the time he returned, Jude had a mug of steaming coffee waiting for him. He sipped it and relished the return of sanity.
He leveled a glare at Emil. “What could you possibly have to say?”
“Hear him out, Mack. It’s not what you think.”
Well damn. If impenetrable, unforgiving Jude thought the weasel deserved a chance, then he’d better listen.
“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “But it better explain why you’ve been such a devious bootlicker.”
“It does, actually.” Emil withdrew a flat, shiny object from his pocket and placed it on the table beside Mack’s mug.
Mack snatched up the silver badge of the Tacoma Police Department, examining it from every angle. It was real.
“When I left Seattle a few years ago, I joined the police force. Because of my investigative reporting skills, I made detective early on. I came back to work undercover at the newspaper.”
Mack snapped his jaw shut. “Why do we need an undercover detective at thePost?Who have you been investigating?”
“Your uncle’s caught up in some bad stuff, Mack. Bribery, intimidation, possibly covering up a murder. The PD accumulated evidence against him, but it wasn’t enough to put him away. And then a key informant turned up dead, so we needed more.”
“Who was the informant?” Jude asked.
“Silas Griff.”
Jude let out a whistle.
Silas Griff had been a well-known conman who had thrived in Seattle’s underbelly for years. His loyalties could be bought by the highest bidder, which had ultimately cost him his life. It was suspected he was two-timing a crime ring when his body was tossed into the sound. If Horace had been involved with the murder, it would be the end of his career and possibly the end of the paper itself. Mack’s head swam, and he debated returning to the bed.
“We needed someone on the inside, someone who could get close to Horace and find any evidence lying around his office. Be present when any deals went down,” Emil continued. “Since I already had a history working for your family and had knowledge of the business, I was the perfect agent.”
Mack let out a breath. “That’s why you always said yes to whatever Horace wanted.”
“That old goat.” Emil shook his head. “That was the hardest part. I agreed with you on so many topics, but I needed to ingratiate myself to your uncle. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were involved.”
“Me?” He leaned forward. “I was the one fighting for better journalism, or, you know, theenemyof graft and extortion.”
“You were,” Emil said slowly. “But you caved quickly. Your uncle would give you a threatening look, and you’d turn to putty in his hand. At first, I thought he had you in his pocket, but I eventually discovered it’s because you wanted to inherit. Horace drove a hard bargain.”
“You can say that again.” Mack turned the information around in his mind. “You never wanted the paper?”
“Never.” Emil snorted. “I thought you’d caught on to me multiple times, but you always let it go. And then Mrs. West showed up.”
Mack swallowed hard. What else had he missed while his head had been in the sand, whiling away the time until the paper was his and he could begin to make a difference? The irony was a punch in the gut.
“I saw you talking to someone.” He described the morning on the street corner. “Who was he?”
“An informant.” Emil shook his head. “And being seen by you is exactly why I told him never to approach me there again.”
“I also know you’ve been going through my office. What were you hoping to find?”
“Anything incriminating, but my orders were to find specifics that would build our case against Horace.”
“Tell him how you can help,” Jude interjected.
