“Yeah, but here’s the thing. As a seasoned public defender you make about eight-five thousand dollars per year, meaning, after taxes, you’re left with about sixty thousand. You’ve got that fancy sports car, utility bills, and your mortgage is approximately five thousand per month and five times twelve is sixty thousand. Now, I’m no genius, but even I can see that the math doesn’t math. Your ends don’t meet. Which makes me wonder just what kind of racket you’re running on the side? Drugs? Underground poker games? Sex trafficking? Murder for hire?”
“Be very careful,captain,” Kirkpatrick sneered, his eyes darkened. “I’ve done my best to accommodate your ridiculous questions, but you’ve stepped over the line. All it would take is one phone call to Chief Cisco Jackson and the three of you will be on highway detail picking up trash.”
“It’s interesting you mention Cisco Jackson,” Ten said. “Considering the man hates you.”
Kirkpatrick’s mouth dropped open.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he once threaten to have you disbarred?” Ten asked, not backing down one inch. “Which disbarment hearing was that? The first or the second?”
“Get the fuck out of my office and take your sideshow freak with you!” Kirkpatrick thundered. “The next time you set foot in this building, you’d better have a warrant!”
“Count on it!” Ronan found his first real smile in what felt like days. Feeling a touch of optimism, he did what Kirkpatrick asked and left the office. He would bet the house that at this very moment, Kirkpatrick was on the phone with his cohorts, letting them know members of the Salem Police were sniffing around.
Ronan couldn’t help thinking that would make their meeting with Duncan MacBain all the more interesting. Unfortunately, if Cisco were involved with the jail murders, he would also know his own cold case team was coming for him.
12
Tennyson
Ten didn’t have long to bask in the glory of his little win over Fallon Kirkpatrick. A killer was still out there, one who’d been brash enough to commit murder inside the Salem Police Department. One who was possibly the chief of that very precinct.
Putting Cisco out of his mind, Ten concentrated on the task at hand; Duncan MacBain. Ten had never met the man and couldn’t remember Ronan ever mentioning his name, which meant he was most likely trying to fly under the radar. Something that would be essential if you were running a criminal enterprise right under the police department’s nose.
“This is it?” Jude asked from the front seat of Fitzgibbon’s SUV. He was staring at the local bowling alley. “This is where MacBain works?”
“Whatever supports his gambling habit. Don’t forget he’s got his pension from thirty years with the SPD.” Ronan opened his door and got out of the SUV.
“How many times have we taken the kids here on Friday nights for Cosmic Bowling with those neon colored lights flashing all over the place?” Jude asked, when Ronan met up with him in front of the building.
“Too many to count. I don’t ever remember seeing MacBain here, do you?”
“Nope, but every time we come here I’m busy trying to keep Wonder Wolf from doing a slip and slide down the alley.” Jude opened the door and walked inside.
The place was packed. Nearly every lane was occupied. “There he is,” Ronan said, pointing to the shoe rental counter. “You ever think it’s creepy to wear shoes a ton of other people wore before you? People who died could have worn those shoes.”
“People who wore these shoes have died.” Ten grinned. “See the old lady with the bright pink hair?”
“Dead shoes?” Ronan gasped.
“Dead soles!” Ten laughed at his own corny dad joke.
“That’s not funny.” Ronan reached the rental counter. “Hey, Duncan, how’s it going?”
“The fuck are you doing here, O’Mara?” Duncan asked, sounding surprised.
“We need to talk to you for a few minutes.” Ronan motioned to Jude and Fitz who were standing near the door. “Any way you can take a break?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Duncan picked up a walkie-talkie and asked someone named Diamond to come up to the front. When his replacement appeared, Duncan motioned the detectives to follow him. He led them to an empty break room. “It’s quarter totwelve, lunch breaks start in fifteen minutes, talk fast.” He took a seat at the round table and motioned for Ronan to join him.
“What can you tell us about deaths at the Salem Jail?” Fitz asked, obviously wasting no time. “We know of four men who were killed in the cells between 2014 to 2018.”
“If you’re here trying to say I killed those guys-”
Fitz held up his hands, stopping Duncan’s rant. “I’m not here to say anything, Duncan. We just want you to tell us what you know,” Fitz said, in a placating tone.
Duncan sighed. “Look you gotta know that money was tight. You guys are on the job, you know they pay us shit.”
“Yeah, I know,” Fitz agreed.
