CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
While Richie and I waited for the police to arrive, he explained that Frank had left Richie’s phone by his hospital bedside. And although the screen was cracked, it was still usable. And Richie had been watching the group text messages go by ever since he woke up after being administered with the atipamezole.
He had also overheard me talk to the taxi driver about the Olive.
When Cassie narrowed down the list of phone numbers using the stingray, she’d landed on one single number. A set of digits that AT&T had left partially anonymized, the only section of the number showing being the area code that designated Lucas Beach.
She needed to wait until business hours to get an exact location from the phone carrier. Then she’d arrange with SWAT for a morning takedown.
For the night, though, everyone presumed I had crashed already, something I’d told Frank I was about to do. And knowing I’d been up for two days, they were leaving me alone.
But not Richie.
Richie got a feeling.
He told the local patrolman who was watching him in the hospital that he was going to Uber to Lucas Beach, like it or not. And the blue-suiter, who had been told not to let Richie out of his sight, drove him there instead.
The pair arrived at the Olive and banged on my hotel room door, expecting me to open up. When I didn’t, Richie woke the night manager, asking him to repeat the contents of our conversation. Which sent him to the Aurora House.
We sat outside on the curb, side by side, sirens ringing in the distance.
I felt the shape of something in my back pocket. Reached in.
Over the last day, the cigar I’d been carrying, the one Poulton had given me, had broken in half. I gave one part to Richie and took the other for myself.
He took out his lighter and set fire to the butt of his. Then mine. We both puffed away in silence for a minute.
Richie took his half from his mouth. “Good quality.”
“Craig Poulton,” I replied. “He gets some things right.”
Richie puffed again. Then glanced over. “Hey. Maybe now that I’ve saved your life, you can all stop calling me ‘rookie.’ You know, since I stopped being one like four months ago.”
I considered this. Nodded. “Sounds fair,” I said. “I’ll talk to Shooter and Cass.”
The rain slowly let up, the thunder and lightning dying away.
“So,” Richie said.
“So,” I repeated.
“Probably a mistake, going in there alone, huh?”
I thought of the conversation we’d had an hour ago.
“I mean, no one knows except you,” I said. “So…”
Richie laughed and looked up at the house where the dead man was. “I’m pretty sure the others will find out soon enough.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So mark me down again. For anyone who thought I was perfect.”
“Gardner Camden,” Richie said. “Another demerit.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
We regrouped in Miami on Thursday to go over the details of the case’s resolution.
Amber Isiah came up for air sometime late Wednesday and called Shooter. Mavreen Isiah’s sister had heard the news about the bodies being dug up in Shilo and decided not to stay put as we’d directed her. Instead, she drove to her mom’s in Boston and didn’t call anyone until she felt safe.
