Page 118 of To Die For
“You could throw a rock in any direction in any part of this country and hit somebody who wants this country to look and taste vanilla and never come close to having a scoop of cherry or chocolate anywhere near the horizon of possibility. And some of these people will not stop until what we have today is replaced with something more 1930s Germany than 2020s America.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“No, I can’t. Because that’s not my job. But if Glass knows about something big being planned like that, my former employer will move heaven and earth to stop it, and blowing up a RICO indictment and offing two citizens would just be seen as a cheap price to pay.”
“I don’t think I like the world you used to play in,” said Devine grimly.
“Neither do I, but it’s the only one I know,” she retorted.
“And there’s still the matter of Perry Rollins.”
“The man killed at the Sand Bar? The one who approached you with dirt for sale?”
“And how did you know about that?” asked Devine.
“I’m an excellent eavesdropper. And recently I’ve taken it to an elevated art form augmented by the latest in surveillance technology. So any idea on what the dirt on Glass is?”
“No. But someone bought the Odoms a mobile trailer and the land around it, and an expensive car. And Betsy said when they went to Ricketts, her parents met up with two men who gave them a duffel bag maybe full of money. Minutes after that, they were dead.”
“And the payer?” she said.
“I thought it was your former employer. Maybe as a conduit for Glass since he told me Dwayne Odom refused any help from him.”
“But why pay and then kill them, Devine?”
“I don’t know.”
“And was the money found?” she asked.
“Not to my knowledge. The police chief of Ricketts is a hard-ass named Eric King. The town has military-grade vehicles, and a government building it can’t afford. His wife is the mayor. She’s attractive, about three decades younger than her husband, walks with a swagger, is as ruthless as they come and ambitious as hell. I’m pretty sure she knew about the attempt on my life in Ricketts. And I can still hear her weird, raspy voice—What?”
Devine had noted a discernible shift in the woman’s body language.
“Describe the wife to me in greater detail.”
“Her name is Mercedes King. She’s around thirty-five to forty, five-five, blond, curvy, if I can use that term, confident, assertive, all the things people love in men and hate in women, for the usual stupid reasons. She can change her persona on a dime, from flirty to flinty.”
“Right, but you said her voice was raspy?”
“Yeah, like a hoarseness to it. I got her prints and had a friend run them through the usual databases. Then they hit a wall that we believe had a federal cloud behind it.”
Jackson nodded at all this. “Were you able to get the prints of the men who abducted you and run them through the same databases?”
“Yes. The locals here in Seattle were handling that.”
“And did they get a hit on the men?”
“Sort of. There was one database where something popped, but it was restricted. Sort of like with Mercedes King.”
“I actually know that database well.”
“How?”
“Becausemyprints are on it. And I’m pretty sure so are those of the womancallingherself Mercedes King.”
CHAPTER
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