June groaned. “You took evidence from the scene of a murder?”
“By accident.” Mostly.
“Oh, if it’s accidental, the cops won’t mind at all.”
“Sarcasm is not your best quality,” Peter said. “Any chance you can get the phone unlocked? Might be something useful on there.”
She rolled her eyes and took the foil packet. “I’ll ask Robert later. We’re besties now.”
Robert was an old friend of Lewis’s. He ran a small consulting company doing white-hat security intrusions for corporate clients. On the side, he did a few things for Lewis. As long as Lewis promised not to tell him anything he didn’t want to know.
It was after four, and with the low clouds and rain, it was already getting dark. Peter looked at Lewis. “You wanted to make a stop for some hardware. When and where?”
“After dinner. In the foothills. I got a guy.”
Lewis always had a guy.
They walked down the driveway and through the gap he had made in the makeshift barricade. As he paused to pull the plastic furniture back into place, the KING 5 reporter climbed out of the van, hair perfectly arranged.
The guy in the Pathfinder got out, too. He was stocky and unshaven, carrying a professional-looking camera with a fat white lens.“She let you in, huh? What’d you say?” As he walked closer, Peter saw his cheeks were mottled by the broken veins of a serious drinker.
“Who are you with,” June asked.
“Freelance,” he said. “I sell to all the websites, video and stills.” He raised the big Nikon. “Say cheese.”
Peter felt something boil to the surface. Anger at what had happened to KT and Ellie. A feeling of helplessness at Sylvia Reed’s distress. Before the other man could bring the viewfinder to his eyes, Peter stepped in and twisted the camera from his hand.
“Ow, fuck. What the hell?” The freelancer held his wrist.
“Most people don’t like strangers taking their picture.” Peter turned the Nikon over, found the card slot, popped the waterproof plug, and pulled out the data card.
The freelancer’s face was red. “Are you kidding me? I got good shit on there.”
Peter snapped the data card in two, dropped it in the mud, and stepped on it. “The woman has lost her brother. Leave her alone. Go home.” He held out the camera.
The freelancer snatched it up. “Fuck you, pal. This is a public street. I have every right to be here.”
Peter moved in. “Time to go.”
Something in his face made the freelancer step away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Peter moved closer and growled, “Get in your car or I’ll put you in it.”
Muttering under his breath, the freelancer stomped back to the Pathfinder.
Peter turned to the KING 5 reporter, who’d gone pale under his spray-tan. “You, too. Go film a car accident or something.”
The reporter opened his mouth, then closed it again and hurried back to the van.
Watching them both drive away, June said, “You feel better, Marine?”
Peter glanced back to the house. The vertical blinds were parted at the front window. He raised a hand. The blinds swung closed. “Maybe a little.”
June said, “What if it was me out here, trying to get an interview?”
“You wouldn’t be,” Peter said. “Not waiting like some vulture. Preying on Sylvia Reed.”
June patted him on the chest. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”
