They were right on the edge of having exactly what they had been working on for years. Dom just didn’t want to rush in and screw something up. “Dot the I’s and cross the Ts one more time. Make sure we haven’t missed anything. No one is getting out of this now.”
One hundred twenty-six law enforcement officers, spouses, children, or TSP personnel—had either been killed or had simply disappeared. Usually right when that cop was in the middle of a case that had significant implications. Those were just the ones they’d found to put on the list. Dom suspected there were far more.
No one had put it together—or had been eliminated whenever they had.
But seven names were a hell of a lot closer than they had been before.
He was in the conference room going over it all again, when a small incident report at the bottom of one of Hope’s stack fell to the floor. Dom grabbed it, and looked.
There it was.H. Coleson.Heather had taken the yellow sheet. It was an assault complaint—signed off on by Melvin Stillman. In regards to two men arguing over a young woman in a bar that had drifted over to Hughes Heights. The neighbor had complained—calling the two men Ernie Newcomb’sboyand Victor Scott’s boy. They had damaged a parked car. One with a hefty price tag.
Interesting.
He hadn’t even known Ernie Newcombhada son. But apparently, the former head of homicide did. Head of homicide, and a murder-for-hire-slash-dead-cop ring. It was almosttooeasy to believe.
It should have been found a long time ago. And it would have—except Dom suspected the leader of this little cushy side gig had hadhelp.Someone who would make questionable things just…go away.
Now Dom just had to find Ernie Newcomb’s son.Thesonangle was what had been throwing him off. Everything they had had lined up with it being a father/son combination. Kimball had made it clear there were sons involved.
Ernie Newcomb hadn’t fit their profile in that one regard. Now he did.
Dom was headed back to his own desk to ask MacNamara if he knew if Newcomb had a son. Dom had known Newcomb for ten years—he had never seen any hint that Newcomb had any family at all. He’d heard the man was widowed decades ago. That was it.
Movement by the glass doors to the bullpen had him stopping. He looked up.
Melvin Stillman stood there.
A Bible and a file folder clutched in his hands.
“Acardi? We need to talk.”
86
She had been planningthis for a long time. Riely had what she needed in her bag. She sort of had an idea where she was going to go. She just had to wait until her grandpa was gone for the day. Then…she was going to go as far away as she could. Riely was going to give it to that cop lady, and tell her she just found it.
Then she was going to run. Maybe…California. That might be far enough. Grandfather would not find her there.
She would just get away for now. Come back when she was eighteen. When he couldn't tell her what to do. She just…she had baby sisters. Here, in Finley Creek.
She wished she could meet them at least once. Just to make sure they were okay.
They were just little girls, one of them was just a baby. They deserved to be safe from her grandpa. They just did.
Bo had dropped her off at school. Like he did every day. But Riely knew how to get away. She just had to check in for her last period—it was study hall, anyway, then slip out to the back bathroom, and then out the rear door by the gym.
Everyone just thought she was going to go swim after class. Like she used to.
There were lots of bodyguards for kids at the school. But most of them didn’t stick around after drop-off. Bo didn’t.
She did exactly as she planned. She was really good at sneaking away.
It was the only way she ever felt free. Since…before.
She had enough money to take a cab. The TSP was on the opposite side of the city from her school. So it took a while.
She needed that time to get herself ready to do this. What if they asked questions? What if she couldn’t answer the right way? Her fingers wrapped around the necklace one more time.
It gave her courage.
