He reached into his desk and pulled out the notebook he had written things in.
“Here. You can have my notes. I know the FBI is going to run with this one, and we won’t stand a chance getting it back now that one of their guys died, too.”
That was a pretty accurate statement.
“Thank you,” he said, tucking them into his notebook for later. He was scoring up all kinds of things. “What’s her name, so I can be proactive and start researching her?” he asked Yandriel Potter.
The man shared what he’d been given by Aaron, and what he’d confirmed himself.
“She goes by Esmeralda, but her real name is Maria Barada. She’s supposedly a big priestess in that area, and no one messes with her. Word on the street is she doesn’t take kindly to it.”
Oh, goodie.
He knew how much Gene loved that kind of craziness. He only hoped he’d get to see that go down because he wasDEFINITELYgoing to poke a priestess. That was something he always lived to do.
Oh, he’d wear a rosary for protection, but he’d absolutely stir the pot to see what floated to the top.
For all of them, time would tell on that.
If Gene and Ethan were magnanimous, they might let him join them—if they wanted him to tag along.
“Thanks for the information. We really do appreciate it.”
Yand stopped him.
“Can you keep us in the loop? Aaron was our friend. We were brothers. We want to know that he’s getting justice.”
Corbin nodded.
That was the least they could do.
“Scribble down your email, and I’ll pass it on to the Feds. You’ll get an update.”
He did as Corbin asked and passed it to the man.
Then, Corbin was to the point.
“I can tell you that without a shadow of a doubt, he’ll get his justice. Agents Cantrell and Blackhawk are very good at what they do, and they aren’t from this office. Their boss sent them in to handle it.”
The one cop sighed in what sounded like relief. Corbin wasn’t sure where that was coming from, but he needed to ask.
“Problem?” he asked, checking out the desk he was leaning on to get his name.
Luis Patron clearly had strong opinions on something, now didn’t he?
“Thank God it’s not those agents who work there full-time. Those idiots in that office are so lazy. They’re not even from here. They are ridiculous. All I ever see is them on the beach, or hanging out at a bar for happy hour. That’s why we don’t like to give them our cases. We actually are from here, and like to keep the city clean.”
Yeah, so he had heard.
Honestly, Corbin couldn’t wait to get back to the two men, and share what he’d found.
This was the mother lode of information, running from the dead man to what he’d been digging into before his demise.
“Thanks again,” he said.
As they headed away, Corbin could tell they weren’t alone. Someone was behind them. On the stairs, he stopped, and put his body in front of Will, instinctually.
Some parts of being a cop didn’t die.
