Murder Season by Robert Ellis Read Free Book Online

one.”
    “Do you know why he was at Club 3 AM?”
    Neither one of them responded. Lena looked at them staring back at her just the way Escabar had—despair spiked with poison. She checked the slider and saw Hight’s silhouette in the window, that bead of light from his cigarette still piercing the darkness.
    “What about Johnny Bosco?” she said. “Why was Jacob with him?”
    The father pushed his coffee aside. “I have no idea.”
    She sensed something in Harry’s face and turned to him. “Did you know Johnny Bosco?” she asked. “Do you know why your brother was with him, Harry? Did he use cocaine?”
    The kid remained quiet and appeared nervous at being singled out. When she repeated the question, his face hardened.
    “My brother didn’t do drugs,” he said finally. “And you’re just another stupid cop. Why don’t you leave us the fuck alone?”
    He pushed past his father and rushed out of the room. After a few moments, a door slammed on the second floor. Then Gant pocketed the snapshot and got up from the table. Curiously, he turned his back on her and looked out through the slider. The man seemed to know that Hight had been watching them all along.
    “You need to leave,” he said, still gazing across the driveway. “You’ve fulfilled our every expectation, Detective, and I don’t want my asshole neighbor to see me get angry. That’s what he wants. That’s why he’s watching. Why don’t you knock on his door tonight and ask him if he feels any better now. I can already see the stories on the news. The man who murdered my boy will get a parade. A street named after his sorry soul. I’ll bet you cops are actually happy about the way things worked out. Not short-term happy because you look like the stupid jerks that you truly are. But long-term happy because you’re finally off the hook.”
    “No one’s off the hook, Mr. Gant.”
    He turned from the window and stared at her for a long time. His weary body was trembling slightly and it looked as if he’d aged ten years in the past few minutes. Like something deep inside him had given way. As he pushed the chair into the table, he seemed a lot like his neighbor. He seemed like a man being forced to carry a monkey on his back for the rest of time—a bag overflowing with memories and nightmares he couldn’t shake out or get rid of.
    He stepped around the table and pointed at the door, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “This is over,” he said. “Get out.”

 
    8
    The ride back to Parker Center was quiet—the eastern sky just beginning to catch some light from the sun still waking up below the horizon. With “rush hour” underway—an event that ran continuously from 5:30 a.m. until 2:00 a.m. every day of the week in Los Angeles—Lena assumed that she would be late for the strategy meeting at seven and had called ahead to let Barrera know.
    It couldn’t be helped. Tim Hight and William Gant were way too wound up to be left alone. The air was too hot, the tinder too dry, and too many nerves were exposed.
    Murder season was in full bloom, and Lena couldn’t walk away.
    Her first thought was to request a surveillance team from the Special Investigation Section. SIS was their primary surveillance unit and could easily handle the job. But this was a unique situation. After talking it over with Rhodes, they decided that everyone would be better off if the surveillance units were out in the open for all to see. Two or three black and white cruisers parked right at the curb to underline their presence, and with any luck, cool things down.
    Lena swung around the block and pulled up to the building. As she climbed out and Rhodes moved in behind the wheel, she could see what three nights without sleep had done to him. She watched him wave and pull away from the curb, trying not to worry about his drive home. Losing sight of her friend in traffic, she headed for the lobby on her own.
    The meeting was being held in Captain Dillworth’s office