“Dr. Wendt at the state forensics lab. I have ballistics results on the .22 caliber revolver submitted under your case.”
“Please tell me you have good news.”
“The rifling patterns and striation marks on the .22 recovered from both victims, Andre Washington and Terrance James, are consistent with test rounds fired from the submitted revolver. Both rounds were fired from this weapon. It’s a match.”
Jack closed his eyes. Just for a second, a blink that lasted a beat too long, the only outward sign that the words had landed somewhere deeper than professional satisfaction. Then he opened them.
“That’s what I needed. Thanks for getting it back to me so quickly.”
“It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do in the middle of the night.”
Jack hung up and said, “Kallas gets two counts of first-degree murder. Stavros gets first-degree on Joaquin, conspiracy on Dre and T-Bone, racketeering, and enterprise homicide. I want warrants before the sun comes up.” He looked at Martinez. “How long has Vic been sitting?”
“Long enough he should be good and nervous.”
“Good.” He looked at his watch and grimaced. “Now I get to wake up a judge and someone from the DA’s office.”
“Better let me call the DA’s office,” Martinez said. “Leisa Slater has a soft spot for me.”
“I guess that leaves the judge for me,” Jack said.
Doug was still sitting at the table, his hands flat on either side of Margot’s keyboard, staring at the dark monitor. The wired energy that had carried him through the night was gone. What was left was a sixteen-year-old boy who’d just watched a man get murdered on video and was carrying the weight of it the way you carry something sharp.
“You should get some sleep,” I said. “Jack’s got a cot behind his office.”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He was quiet for a moment. “I keep thinking about Dre. Sitting in that crowd. Watching Stavros kill that kid. And then going back. Week after week. Recording, documenting, building the case.” He looked up at me. “How do you do that? How do you watch something like that and go back?”
“Because the alternative is letting it stand,” I said. “And some people can’t live with that.”
Doug nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything else, and I didn’t push. Some things didn’t need more words.
I found Jack in his office twenty minutes later, hanging up the phone.
“Judge Aldridge signed the warrants and sent them over electronically,” he said. “Two counts first-degree murder on Kallas. First-degree murder, conspiracy, racketeering, and criminal enterprise charges on Stavros. She wasn’t happy about missing out on her beauty sleep, so she told me we’d better make an airtight case or she’s coming for me.”
“I always liked Judge Aldridge.”
“Martinez got Slater at the DA’s office. She’s reviewing the affidavit now and she’ll have the formal charging documents ready by morning.”
“So you think it was Leisa Slater’s house Martinez was seen leaving in the middle of the night?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jack said. “But it wouldn’t surprise me at all. She’s got a thing for cops. She and Colburn went a few rounds several years ago.”
“Oh really?” I asked, arching a brow. “Maybe that’s why things always seem a little off between Colburn and Martinez.”
There was a knock on the open door, and a uniformed deputy I didn’t recognize leaned in.
“Sheriff, the suspect in interview two is asking to talk. His lawyer showed up about half an hour ago.”
Vic talked for forty minutes. He told us everything we needed to make sure Stavros never saw the light of day again.
“Dre deserved better,” he said, slumped in his chair like a man who accepted his fate. “He deserved the shot I never gave him. If putting Stavros away is the last thing I do for that kid, then I’m okay with it.”
I guess that was as close to remorse as we would get.
When it was over Jack had everything he needed—Stavros’s direct order on Dre, Kallas as the triggerman, the three days in the back chamber, T-Bone’s execution after Beckwith tipped the cooperation, and Cole’s shooting, ordered as a tactical diversion so Kallas could get to T-Bone.
Jack found me in the corridor.
