I unfolded the single page. The block print was the same steady, disciplined hand as the envelope, and I read it aloud while Jack stood beside me with his arms crossed and his eyes burning.
If you’re reading this then I’m probably dead. I hate writing that because I really want to live. But no matter what happens to me, it’s important the truth come out.
I’m a Marine first and a man second. And I have a confession, because I can’t call out others’ sins without calling out my own. When I got out of the Marines I was introduced to a man who said he could make me famous like Tyson and Mayweather. Vic said it had been a long time since he’d seen someone with my natural talent and skill. I believed him. So I trained and he started signing me up for these fights. He said they were practice. To get some seasoning on me. I was a little too polished, he said.
Then he introduced me to Nikolai Stavros. He’s the money guy. The sponsor. I didn’t realize until it was too late what these underground fights really were. The tunnels in King George County are the best-kept secret around, and I learned to fight, keep my mouth shut, and take the money.
But I knew things were wrong. And I knew Vic was lying to me. He wasn’t trying to get me on the professional circuit. So I decided I had to figure out a way to get out. I knew that might not be possible after watching Stavros kill a man. Another fighter. That’s when I knew I was disposable.
Joaquin Melendez was his name. But he tried to play the bets on his way out. He hedged against the house line to walk away with a bigger cut. Stavros found out, and he was waiting for Joaquin at the end of his fight with a big smile. Creepiest thing I ever saw. Didn’t even give him a chance to speak. He just put a hand on his shoulder like he was going to hug him and then pushed the knife right into the side of his neck. I’m not sure what happened to Joaquin. He just disappeared.
I don’t know if Stavros had ever done something like that before, but there was no fear in him. He acted like he could do anything he wanted and get away with it. Maybe he could. He’s got cops on his payroll. There’s always a guy there in uniform to make sure everyone behaves and no one runs off with the money.
So I started taking notes. Taking names. And I started to plan my escape. I guess it failed.
I hope you take him down. It’s the least I can do in death.
Andre Washington. United States Marine Corps. Semper Fi.
“Joaquin Melendez,” Jack said. “I’ll check with Richmond PD to see if they have a missing persons case.”
Jack gathered the photographs, the letter, and the flash drive and sealed each piece into evidence bags with steady hands.
I thought about Dre’s mother. The yellow front door he was going to paint for her. The house he’d been saving for with money that was supposed to buy them a new life. The surprise he’d mentioned on the phone that last Thursday night, the last time she’d ever hear his voice.
“You think Dre figured out a way to get out?” I asked. “Maybe that’s what he was excited about. He could have taken any of this information to the press or the FBI and blown the whole thing wide open.”
“That would certainly be a motive for murder,” Jack said.
We walked out of Heritage Federal into a Saturday morning that had no idea what we were carrying. Jack opened my door, went around to the driver’s side, and turned toward King George.
“What about Beckwith?” I asked.
“If the pattern holds, he’ll be at the fight tonight.” Jack’s voice was flat. “Standing guard in that tunnel with his badge on when SWAT comes through the door.”
“You’re going to let that happen?”
“I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jack made the calls from the car. Short, direct, the same message to each one. This was a need-to-know meeting, and only those Jack trusted implicitly would be brought in.
I listened to him work through the list while the farmland rolled past and the sun climbed toward noon, and I thought about how many times I’d watched him do exactly this—assemble the people he trusted, pull them into a room, and ask them to follow him into danger. It never got easier to watch. It never got easier to be married to a man who walked toward the things most people ran from and expected the people who loved him to understand why.
By two o’clock, conference room D was full.
Jack had chosen the room deliberately. No exterior windows. One door. The closest thing the building had to a vault, and today that’s exactly what he needed it to be.
I took a chair against the back wall and watched them settle in. Martinez arrived first because Martinez always arrived first, looking like he’d stepped off a magazine cover in pressed charcoal slacks and a shirt that probably cost more than most cops made in a week. For most, that would at least warrant an IA investigation, but Martinez was filthy rich so there was no scandal there. Those dark hooded eyes swept the room once, taking in everything, and then he dropped into the chair next to mine with easy confidence.
“Hey, Doc,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“I hear it’s because you’ve got a new lady friend. Carmichael said he saw you sneaking out of a house in Nottingham in the middle of the night while he was on patrol.”
“Carmichael is an idiot,” Martinez said. “I was leaving through the front door. Not sneaking.”
My brow arched. “So you do have a new lady friend.”
