The Kill Clause by Gregg Hurwitz Read Free Book Online Page A

for that,” Dray threw in.
    “You’ve got no distance from the case. No perspective. And to say you’re biased is something of an understatement. Now, I know what you thought you heard in there—”
    “How did you find Ginny’s body?” Tim said. “So quickly. I mean, that creek bed is pretty remote.”
    Harrison blew out a breath that clouded in the cool air. “Anonymous call.”
    “Man or woman?”
    “Look, we don’t have to—”
    “Was it a man’s or a woman’s voice?”
    Gutierez folded his arms, irritation starting to shift to anger. “A man’s.”
    “Did you trace it? Was it recorded?”
    “No, it went to the private line of the deputy working the desk.”
    “Not 911? Not dispatch?” Dray said. “Who would know the private number?”
    “Someone making sure their ass was covered,” Tim said. “Someone afraid to be implicated or ID’d. Like an accomplice.”
    Harrison stepped forward, getting in Tim’s space. “Listen, Fox Mulder, I don’t think you have any idea how many anonymous tips we get. It doesn’t mean the guy was in on a murder. I mean, odds are a guy drifting through an out-of-the-way creek bed is up to something other than selling Girl Scout cookies. It could have been a guy with a rap sheet, a scared kid who didn’t want to get tangled up in a murder case. It could’ve been a bum sniffing glue.”
    “Because bums whacked out on glue fumes are in possession of private phone numbers into the Moorpark Police Station,” Dray said.
    “It’s listed.”
    “A bum with a phone book,” Tim said.
    “Hey, man, you missed your chance to take care of business. We gave it to you. And guess what? You wanted everything aboveboard. Well, fine. We can respect that. But that means it’s out of your hands now. You’re a biased party, the parents of the vic, and you’re to go nowhere near this case or we’ll slap you with obstruction. There’s no shooter on the grassy knoll. Your daughter died, and we got the sick fuck who did it. Case closed. Go home to each other. Grieve.”
    “Thanks,” Dray said. “We’ll take that under advisement.”
    They walked back to Tim’s car silently, climbed in, and sat.
    “He’s right.” Tim’s voice was soft, cracked, defeated. “We can’t get involved. There’s no way we could go about this investigation fairly, objectively. Let’s hope Kindell sweats it and tries to talk for a plea. Or chokes on the stand and spills. Or that his PD trots out the accomplice theory as part of the defense. Something. Anything.”
    “I feel useless,” Dray said.
    A cop car pulled in swiftly and parked across the lot. Mac and Fowler got out, joking and chuckling, and headed into the bar.
    Tim and Dray sat in the afterwash of the laughter, eyes on the dash.
     
    •When Tim entered the kitchen Thursday morning, Dray looked up from the latest batch of thank-yous and condolence-card replies she was writing. Her eyes went to the pager in his hand, then to his Smith & Wesson, clipped to his belt. “You’re going to the office? Already?”
    “Bear needs me.”
    Light glowed yellow through the drawn blinds, falling across her face. “I need you. Bear’ll be just fine.”
    The phone rang, but she shook her head. “Press,” she said. “All morning. They want a sobbing mother, a stoic father. Which do you want to play?”
    He waited for the phone to quiet before speaking. “A tip came in from one of our CIs this morning. We’re planning a hot takedown. I have to go in.”
    One of Bear and Tim’s confidential informants had caught wind of a deal going down that had Gary Heidel’s smell all over it. The Escape Team had been tracking Heidel, a Top 15, for the better part of five months. After being convicted for one count of first-degree murder and two counts of drug trafficking, Heidel had escaped during his transport from courthouse to prison. Two Hispanic accomplices in a pickup had pinned the sedan against a tree, shot both deputy marshals, and extracted