Last Shot (2006) by Gregg - Rackley 04 Hurwitz Read Free Book Online

catch a case."
    "I want to talk to some rank."
    "Sure thing. I'll get Condi Rice on MSN Messenger." Zarotta closed the door and chuckled his way back down the hall.
    "Real cutup," Bear said.
    "Oh, I get it," LaRue said. "Here's where we establish camaraderie."
    "Nah," Tim said, "let's skip it. Are you a friend of Walker's?"
    LaRue was really working the tooth now, his elbow rising level with his head. "Ain't no one a friend of Walker's. But yeah"--and now a flash of pride--"I'm the only one he'll talk to in here."
    The warden had not put out word of Walker's escape to the population, but inmates were second only to socialites at acquiring and disseminating sensational information. Tim decided to float the obvious to gauge LaRue's willingness to talk.
    "He escaped."
    LaRue's eyes stayed uncharacteristically steady. "Did he, now." He gave up on his fingernail, tugged a strand of yarn from his sock, and flossed out a green fleck. "Walk was short, sixteen-some months to the door. Why would he bust a move like that?"
    "We were hoping you could enlighten us."
    With a flourish of his hand, LaRue made a cigarette appear, and then his fingers fussed in the hair behind his ear and produced a match. Centering his thumbs on the phosphorus head, he carefully tore it and the tinder in half. He flicked one of the half matches against his tooth and lit up, pleasure closing his eyes on the inhale.
    "What do you know about his sister?"
    "Walk has a sister?"
    "How about his wife?"
    "His wife? Shit, that's been years. I'd bet a spoonful of chiva she's put on a sport coat by now."
    "Sport coat?" Bear asked.
    LaRue smiled sourly. "A man your lady slides on to keep her warm while you're doing hard time."
    Tim asked, "Did Walker have a problem with Boss?"
    "Walker didn't have a problem with no one. Not even with the screws."
    "So why'd he kill Boss?"
    "Beats hell outta me."
    "I think you know."
    Same flat stare. "Do you, now?"
    Tim walked over and sank to his haunches so he was eye level with LaRue. "You made a phone call just before dinner. Then you busted ass getting to the dining hall so you could whisper in Walker's ear. You're gonna tell us what you found out."
    For the first time, LaRue looked uneasy, but his composure snapped back, smoothing his face like a mask. "I don't much seem to recall that particular phone call."
    "LaRue. I want an answer."
    LaRue shrugged and showed off a set of clean white teeth. "What you gonna do? Put me in jail?"
    "He's exactly right," Tim said, charging back down the breezeway. "We've got no leverage with him. He's a lifer already. We need the guy he called."
    Bear shuffle-stepped to keep up. "And how are we gonna get to him?"
    Tim moved down the brief hall and through the door into the control center, where Newlin was making decisive gains on a cruller.
    "Do you monitor inmate phone calls?" Tim asked.
    Newlin looked up from the recording--LaRue's whispered pronouncement again--and wiped a smudge of grease from his chin. "Course."
    "Record them?"
    "Only if we're keeping an eye. We wouldn't have recorded LaRue, probably. We're not that concerned about the seamy underworld of Brie."
    "Can we get the number he called?"
    "Yeah, the prisoners have to use a PIN number before dialing. They can only call approved numbers, which we database at Investigative Services. It's just a matter of digging around the records. I'll call over."
    "And see if you can rustle up any information on who LaRue used to run with." Tim tapped Bear on the shoulder. "Let's get Guerrera on that, too. He's probably boring a hole in the phone with the patented Little Havana stare."
    Newlin dialed and said as it was ringing, "Oh, and they sent over an update of the crime-scene log." He handed a printout to Tim.
    Tim perused the already familiar names. COs and sanitation workers.
    His pulse quickened as he sensed--finally--some of the data pulling together. A pattern shifting shape, still eluding him.
    Newlin finished his call, and he and Bear