“—but wedoactually have work to do, as you pointed out yourself. This is something the Monster of the Morellis can handle if you don’t have the stomach for it.”
“You can’t kill him,” I said at once, pulling his finger from my mouth. “You can’t even touch him, you get me? We need something admissible, or at least credible enough for them to be able to confirm with other evidence. And when they take down this asshole, I want him toknowother people know what he is. He stays alive.”
“He stays alive,” Angelo confirmed, “and we deliver a taped confession or other compelling evidence to the task force. What do you say, Special Agent Baxter Flynn?”
I walked over to the couch and grabbed my jacket. “That’sEx-Special Agent Baxter Flynn to you. Let’s go.”
* * *
Captain Matthew Walshwas a senior officer, but I still thought his house looked a lot fancier than someone on a police salary would be likely to own. As Angelo pulled the car up in front of it, I became even more certain. “No way he can afford that place without being on the take,” I said.
Angelo frowned. “That’s a hell of a jump to make. For one thing…” He trailed off. “There’s no protection here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there are no cops around.”
“You’re sure?”
“Believe me, they can’t help but give themselves away, even the best of them.” He was staring hard at the front door of Walsh’s townhouse. Suddenly his whole body became alert, and my heart picked up the pace in response.
We were only there to scope out the place, maybe follow Walsh if he went out, so we could grab him and take him to a more private place for our discussion. But Angelo started up the car again.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, grabbing the wheel.
“Front door’s open,” Angelo said, but he paused in taking off the hand brake. “Unlikely that a senior officer and head of a task force would leave his front door ajar.”
He was right, both about the door being open and it being pretty damn unlikely that Walsh would do that on purpose.
“So?”
“So we’re not walking into a trap.”
“No,” I insisted. “This wasyouridea. We need to get this done, one way or another.” I put my hand on the car door, but he slapped an arm across my chest and pushed me back into the seat.
“So help me, Baxter Flynn, if you go running out of this caragain—” he began, real frustration in his voice. Then he sighed and turned off the engine. “Fine. Let’s get it done. But first, we need to put on these.” He opened the glove box and pulled out four thin latex gloves from a box he had stashed in there.
I followed him out of the car and across the road, hurrying to walk next to him while I pulled on the gloves. As we reached the door, Angelo scanned the street behind us once more, drew his gun, and motioned me behind him. We’d agreed together that he would go first, but he’d given me a gun of my own to use if necessary. Not that we had any intention of shooting Walsh.
Or at least,Ididn’t.
The street was empty and silent and cold enough that it seemed unlikely anyone would willingly leave their front door open. Angelo pushed the door wide slowly, and we crept inside.
Inside was a long hallway, sleek with polished floors and the occasional modern art painting hung along the walls. At the end of it was a closed door, and more doors led off to the left and right of the corridor.
Angelo shut the door silently behind us, then motioned to his right, so I began to move along the right-hand side of the hallway, checking the rooms. All I saw was fashionable furniture and good taste. It really seemed very unlike the Captain Walsh I knew.
I retraced my steps and saw the door at the end of the hall was now open. I found Angelo in the room beyond, the kitchen, looking down at something on the floor behind the island bench. He glanced my way as I came in and nodded for me to come around and look.
I stepped slowly around the island, dreading what I would see. The Captain was there all right, lying in a pool of his own blood.
Two shots to the back and one to the head.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Angelo
Bax glanced away and looked around the room, froze as his eyes landed on something, and then turned and ran out of the room. I followed where his gaze had been and saw a family photograph of Walsh with his arm around a tall, thin blonde woman and three proudly-grinning children in front of them, the eldest of which was missing her two front teeth.
