“I didn’t check my phone. Around 15:30, I think.”
The man looked up, dark blue eyes meeting Lucky’s. “What happened then? Did you notice anything suspicious?”
Why bother to ask him questions? Lucky knew the drill, why not let him jot down answers and let the cop get back to patrolling or not answering cries for help? “It was too quiet. He didn’t answer the front door, so I went around back.”
“Did you call for backup?”
“Not then. I had no idea what I’d find. He might just’ve been in the shower or something.”
Scratch, scratch, scratch, went the officer’s pen on his notepad. Another who hadn’t given up old school for technology and a shiny new tablet computer. “How well did you know the victim?”
Lucky hated answering a million questions. He hated the paperwork even more. Most of all, though, he hated that he hadn’t gotten there in time. Chastain’s death might reopen an old case that would’ve stayed closed if Lucky had tied up all the loose ends.
“He was a victim in one of my cases. Owned a pharma company that somebody else wanted. A bigger company tried to buy him out because they wanted a drug his team developed. He fought back, so they tried to shut him down. Pissed off a lot of people that he kept saying no to.”Theynow paid the price.
But not all of them.
“Know anybody who’d want to see him dead?”
Names and faces flashed through Lucky’s mind, some he’d met, some he’d seen only through mugshots and media. Some he’d glimpsed during a tour of the rival pharma company. “Several, I’m betting. That clusterfuck led to a lot of arrests.” If those arrests held up in court, those folks would see the world through bars for many years to come. “The SNB can provide a full case report.” Let the paperwork come in handy.
“How did you come to be here today?” The officer kept his tones somewhere between bored and sleep-walking. Yeah. One too many murders tended to jade a man.
Lucky closed his eyes a moment, recalling the frantic phone call, pushing his memory to spit out every single detail. “I done told you. He called me. Asked me to come.” Chastain had been scared. Scared enough to call Lucky, nobody’s idea of a savior.
Lucky hadn’t taken him seriously. Not at first. If he had, he’d have put his foot up some asses and gotten Atlanta’s finest to respond. They might not have listened to a civilian without proof, but they would sure the hell listen to Lucky, if only to get him off their backs.
Especially if he invoked Walter’s name.
Johnson poked her head through the door and mouthed, “Need me?”
Lucky waved her off. “I’ll be done here in a minute.”
The cop looked over his shoulder in time to see Johnson retreat the way she’d come. Lucky had totally forgotten about asking for backup if he didn’t check in. No call, and there she’d stood.
Good ole Loretta Johnson. She had his back.
Keith came into the room with a laptop. They weren’t friends, would never be friends, but Lucky sleeping with the new boss and Keith respecting both the old and new bosses made for some kind of weird truce. Plus, Lucky’s nephew dated Keith’s daughter.
“Here’s what I got,” Keith said, sitting as far away on the couch as possible while still in range to show Lucky the screen. “Whoever did this disabled his cameras. Here’s from earlier today.”
Lucky took the laptop and studied the video. Not the best he’d seen, but not the worst. Blue car, red car, black truck. Why the hell hadn’t he gotten details about the car when he’d had the chance? It must be old, but were there any identifying markings?
White vans were white vans. Without “I’m the killer” emblazoned on the side, obvious body damage, or a license plate number, they’d never find the right one.
He hadn’t asked for more details because he’d expected Chastain to be here, alive and well. Now a man was dead because Lucky hadn’t taken Chastain’s fear seriously enough. Damn it all to hell. Could the cameras have caught anything? Someone entering? Someone leaving?
No. Just cars.
Chastain had pissed off many in big pharma for refusing to roll over and let them steal his revolutionary new diabetes drug. Most of those executives who’d hoped to take unfair advantage were in prison, or awaiting trial.
Hmmm… As soon as he got back to the office, he needed to call up the complete list of all indictments, finding any suspects who might roam free in the world pending their day in court.
One person, the top name on the list, still evaded capture: Owen Landry.
As a former DEA agent attached to the SNB, he’d know how to bypass or deactivate a camera. If he were in Atlanta, and offed Chastain, he’d not stop there.
Sooner or later, he’d come for the man who’d screwed up his plans of a corner office, an easy job, and lots of lovely money.
Lucky.
