The Survivors Club by Lisa Gardner Read Free Book Online

gave the kid shackled to the right of Eddie’s body a derisive glance—“is already screaming, ‘I’ve been hit, I’ve been hit.’ Course he ain’t been hit. He’s just wearing most of Eddie’s brains.”
    Griffin looked down the inmate line. They all nodded. This seemed to be the official summary of events. He glanced back up at the roofline, trying to figure out if he should separate them all and push the issue. Not worth it, he decided. Even knowing there were two crime-scene techs on the roof, he couldn’t see a damn thing from this angle. Across the street, on the other hand . . .
    A voice came over the radios secured to Jack-n-Jack’s waists.
    “We got a gun,”
a crime-scene tech reported from the roof.
“AR15 assault rifle with a Leupold scope, two-twenty-three Remingtons in the magazine. Also have three Army blankets, black coveralls, a pair of shooting gloves, and a pair of shoes. Oh, and three empty wrappers from snack-sized packages of Fig Newtons. Apparently our guy didn’t just want ordinary cookies, but fruit and cake.”
    “Cigarette butts?” one Jack asked hopefully.
    “No cigarette butts,”
the tech reported back.
“Sorry, Jack.”
    “Bummer.” The first Jack looked at the second Jack morosely. Cigarette butts contained such a wealth of information, from brand specifics to DNA-yielding saliva.
    “Cheer up,” Griffin said supportively. “You have shoes. Think of everything you can get from shoes.”
    The Jacks brightened again. “We like shoes,” they agreed. “We can do things with shoes.”
    Griffin gave the pair another encouraging nod, then walked over to the state marshals. Detective Mike Waters had the three men huddled around his Norelco Pocket Memo, making official statements.
    “Griffin!” the first marshal said. He pulled back from the recorder long enough to vigorously pump Griffin’s hand.
    “Hey, Jerry. How are you?” Heavyset with thinning gray hair, Jerry was an old-timer with the state marshals. He’d helped train Griffin’s older brother, Frank. Then again, Jerry had helped train just about everyone in the gray uniform.
    “Fine, fine,” Jerry was saying. “Well, okay, could be better. Jesus, I heard you were coming back but I didn’t realize it would be today of all days. You always could pick ’em, Griff. Hey, you actin’ as ringleader of this circus?”
    “Nah, just another working stiff. Hey, George. Hey, Tom.” Griffin shook the other two men’s hands as well. Beside him, Detective Waters cleared his throat. Griffin belatedly turned toward his fellow officer. Mike Waters was five years Griffin’s junior. He was tall and lanky, with a penchant for navy blue suits that made him look like an aspiring FBI agent. He was smart though, deceptively strong and thoughtfully quiet. A lot of suspects underestimated him. They never got a chance to make that same mistake twice.
    There had been a time when Griffin would have greeted Mike with a hearty “Cousin Stinky!” And there had been a time when Waters would have responded with a booming “Cousin Ugly!” That time was gone now. One of the open questions in Griffin’s life was would that time come again.
    “Sergeant,” Waters said, nodding in greeting.
    “Detective,” Griffin replied. The three state marshals perked up, gaze going from officer to officer. They had probably heard the story. For that matter, they had probably helped spread the story. Griffin tried but couldn’t quite keep his gaze from going to Waters’s nose. That was okay. Waters’s gaze had gone to Griffin’s fist.
    Both men jerked their eyes back to the marshals. The silence had gone on too long, grown awkward. Griffin thought,
Shit
.
    Waters cleared his throat again. “So as you guys were saying . . .”
    “Oh yeah.” Jerry picked up the story. “We secured the courtyard.”
    “We opened the van doors,” George supplied.
    “We took up position,” Tom filled in. “Started the