“Spit it out, Leo,” Holgersen said, lifting his mug and taking a frothy swig.
“It’s a match to Fitzsimmons.”
They all stared at him in silence.
“Fitz?”Holgersen said.
“Yeah. Unique speech patterns and his little weirdly scratchy voice—they reckon it’s him. Matches what they got on file.”
“Nothing’s proved yet,” Maddocks said quietly. “Give the guy the benefit of the doubt—innocent until guilty.”
Leo snorted, sat back, and took a sip of his whiskey. “Never thought I’d hearyousupporting him—not after that little set-to the pair of you had outside the incident room door the other day.”
“Why would Fitz leak information?” said Padachaya.
“He’s sick in the head, I tell ya—freak,” retorted Leo.
O’Hagan snorted softly. “He’s been around same length of time as Gunnar. He’s been overlooked for one promotion after another while Gunnar climbed steadily to the top. He’s a bitter little man.”
“A revenge guy,” Maddocks said with a glance at Angie. “Let’s stay mum on this—wait and see how it plays out, okay?”
Leo mumbled. “Between you and me,” he said, “that fucker’s got what’s coming to him—sure would explain why he wanted to quash that mayor–ADAG stuff and curry favor with Killion and the new police board.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Probably figured it would unseat Gunnar and get him all the way up into the chief’s chair himself, eh?”
Maddocks poured Angie a glass of wine. She scanned the rest of the room as she sipped. She caught sight of a dark-haired, hawk-like man in a booth at the opposite corner.
“Grablowski’s here,” she said.
“Yep,” Holgersen said. “All’s invited.” Then he added, “He’s the only guy really spinning his wheels over the fact that you shot Addams dead.”
O’Hagan chuckled. “True. Angie, you apparently robbed the doc of an opportunity to study a locally bred monster firsthand, right in his own backyard. He already had a book deal in the works, but that’s tanked now.”
“Well,” Angie said, taking another sip of her wine, “I’d love to say there’ll be another time ... I’m sure he’ll still spin something out of it.”
Music ramped up, and the crowd grew noisier. Dancing started in front of the small bandstand. Angie had to raise her voice. “What’s the news on Buziak—is he ever coming back?”
“You didn’t hear?” Maddocks said near her ear.
Her gaze ticked up and met his. His mouth was so close. She felt his warmth. Heat stirred low in her belly. “No,” she said quietly. “Vedder wasn’t about to tell me anything.”
“He got caught in Fitz’s net—internal was going through office devices, looking for external communications, anything that might clue them in to someone leaking information. Buziak, it appears, had a problem with online gaming, sites not legal here, and he was routinely accessing them from work.”
“Oh man,” Angie said. “Shit. He was a good cop.”
“Fucking good cop,” Leo added. “Had respect, that guy.”
Colm McGregor, followed by two of his kitchen staff in chef whites, came muscling through the patrons toward their table. They carried trays laden with turkey and fixings and steaming gravy.
These were set on their table, and more trays were brought to other tables. Hungry law enforcement and allied personnel dug in all round as the music quieted slightly.
Glasses were raised, and there were cheers, and spills, and laughter. Maddocks met Angie’s eyes and lifted his glass. “Merry Christmas, Angie.”
She felt a clutch in her chest at the look in his eyes. “You too, Detective.” And that night she’d taken him in the club felt like a million miles away.
“It’s here!” McGregor called out, waving a newspaper in the air as he returned to the table. “Christmas Eve special edition—hot off the press.” He plunked a copy of theCity Sunin front of them all. The headline blared:
Mayor and ADAG Caught in Serial Killer Net
Below the headline was Winston’s photo of Jack Killion and Joyce Norton-Wells embracing in a car outside the ADAG’s estate, the name AKASHA clearly visible on the stone pillar.
