Dead Drop (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 9)

by Jack Patterson

The old woman didn’t flinch. “All the more reason to go to him.” She took a long pull on her glass of wine. “I don’t know why you’re still standing here.”

  Rebecca’s anger yielded to sorrow as she began to sob. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the emotions of everything finally hitting her at once—or a combination of the two. Regardless of the reason, she couldn’t stop the tears once they started.

  “There you go,” the old woman said. “Just let it out. Have a good cry. And then go get your man.”

  Rebecca didn’t say anything for at least a minute. She broke the silence by muttering, “Thank you,” to her friendly neighbor and going inside. As much as the woman dishing unsolicited advice bothered Rebecca, she knew the woman was right.

  Jonathan Umbert needed her—and her alibi. And he needed her thirty seconds ago.

  CHAPTER 35

  CAL CAUTIOUSLY APPROACHED THE FRONT STEPS to his house. Something didn’t feel right—and it didn’t look right either. The doormat was off kilter, and the door was ajar. For a fleeting moment, he thought Kelly and Maddie had taken the redeye home and were trying to surprise him. But he dismissed that idea, concluding that they would’ve called to check on him if he wasn’t there when they arrived.

  No, something was wrong.

  He pushed the door open slowly.

  “Hello?” he said. “Is anybody here?”

  There could’ve been a handful of guys who were playing a prank on him, but he doubted it. Then he considered for a moment that maybe Kelly had asked their cleaning service to come by, knowing he would’ve kept the house a wreck. And, sadly, she was right.

  If this had been his bachelor days, he would’ve had a hard time proving anyone had been in his house aside from the open door. But Kelly kept their home orderly, and there was no doubt someone had ransacked his house.

  As he surveyed the carnage, nothing looked broken or damaged. And nothing seemed to be missing, either. If this was a robbery, it hadn’t gone well. Cal figured either the burglar got spooked or the purpose behind the break-in was to scare him. If what really happened was the latter, the robber failed. Such minor incidents were far more common occurrences than Cal preferred—and it didn’t faze him.

  But it did make him angry.

  After he picked up for a few minutes, he sat down at his kitchen table and tried to think about the why.

  Why would they target me? Something I wrote? Something I have?

  The only person who could possibly be upset enough at something he wrote to strike back would be Rebecca Westin—and she was out of the country. Not that she would do something like this herself. He figured she would’ve hired somebody for the job. But he doubted someone as vindictive as she was would have his place tossed just to prove a point.

  Then there were William Lynch’s thugs. They’d already used Cal as a punching bag once but seemed to enjoy sending messages. What they sent, Cal received loud and clear. He passed it along to Buckman, who obviously relayed it to Josh Moore. In that morning’s paper, Josh’s article sang the praises of Shawn Lynch, who scored the game-winning goal with less than two minutes remaining to give Seattle FC the victory.

  Cal couldn’t think of anyone else who could possibly have it out that bad for him these days.

  Maybe a former client or a disgruntled athlete.

  Narrowing down that list wouldn’t be easy as it numbered in the dozens. But he also doubted they would go through all this trouble just to send a message. Those people would be looking to exact revenge, make it hurt Cal where he was most vulnerable.

  Unable to come up with a reasonable theory, he got up to walk through the house again and inspect the damage more closely. He went into his study and found proof that this was indeed a scare tactic. “Mind Your Own Business” was spray painted on the wall in bright red. Cal called Kittrell.

  “What do you want?” Kittrell groused as he answered his phone.

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Look, now isn’t a good time, Cal. In fact, you might want to get down here to re-write the story one of your reporters already reported on this morning.”

  “That’s not what I need to talk about.”

  Kittrell ignored him and kept talking. “We got him. Officially booked Jonathan Umbert for murder charges.”

  “Jonathan Umbert?”

  “Don’t act so surprised, Cal. You knew this for a while now and couldn’t wait to tell someone, anyone. So, you blabbed it to your loudmouth pal, Eddie Ramsey. At least you’ll be the one on the humbling end of this story. Everybody will be singing the praises of Ramsey while you shrink into the corner like a wallflower.”

  “Wait. You’re arresting Jonathan Umbert?”

  “Do I sound like I’m stuttering? Feigning disbelief is just so—so … not you.”

  “Didn’t you keep Umbert in custody all night?”

  “All night. And he’ll never get anything but three squares and a cot for the rest of his life now.”

  “You’ve got the wrong guy,” Cal said forcefully. “Stop with your endless rant and listen to me.” Cal took a deep breath. “I know you’re still upset, but I want to assure you that I didn’t tell Ramsey—or even anyone who did. He’s got another source, a source from your own department. However, I’m not here to bicker over that, and it never was the purpose of my call.”

  “Well, why did you call me?”

  “Someone broke into my home this morning and left me a message in spray paint telling me to mind my own business.”

  “Can I sign my name to that sage piece of advice?”

  “Enough with the wise cracks, Kittrell. This is serious. And if you think Umbert is your guy, I think you’re mistaken.”

  “So, you were also mistaken yesterday?”

  “Yes,” Cal said, his voice rising several octaves before descending again. “I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong, and while I think Umbert may appear to be a likely suspect, maybe even a sketchy agent, I don’t think he killed Sid Westin—even though he had a motive and means to accomplish it.”

  “What makes you so sure it wasn’t him?”

  “Well, for one, my house just got tossed while I was at breakfast this morning. And Umbert certainly had no hand in that.”

  “You don’t think he could’ve orchestrated this from prison to plant doubt in your mind?”

  Cal shrugged. “Perhaps, but this felt personal, not like some thief playing mind games with me. I’d say it’s far more likely that he didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Look, I think you’re crazy and paranoid right now. But just for your peace of mind, I’ll send one of our guys out there to camp outside your house with a nice view of everything from the street. He’ll be able to protect you from the dangerous spray painters.”

  “This isn’t a joking matter, Kittrell.”

  “I’m only telling you this because I promised, but you need to get down here quickly if you want to scoop Seattle with this story. You wouldn’t want Ramsey stealing your thunder two days in a row.”

  By this point, Cal was seething. He hung up and started to search his house for more clues. There had to be something somewhere that let him know what else was really going on.

  CHAPTER 36

  REBECCA WESTIN SCOOTED next to Mason on his bed, bracing for the painful news she had to deliver. She rubbed his back, gently awakening him. When he rolled over, he opened his eyes for a moment before shutting them again. Then a grin spread across his face.

  “So, Mum, can I go swimming with the dolphins today?” he asked, eyes still shut.

  Rebecca exhaled and cringed while she decided how to let him down without crushing him.

  “Not today, Mason,” she said. “In fact, we’re going to go back home.”

  He opened his eyes, which turned sad. His smile gave way to a frown. “So soon? I thought you said I could swim with the dolphins today, and now we’re going home? I don’t understand.”

  “You know how I’v
e talked with you about being content?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, this is a chance for you to practice this. We don’t always get what we want in life.”

  Mason rolled over and burrowed under the covers. “You do.”

  “Now, Mason, that’s not true. I certainly didn’t want your father to die.”

  “You always get your way.”

  “Look, I’m not going to argue with you about this, but I do need you to get up and get dressed so we can get to the airport. I’ve got something important to do.”

  “I thought you said taking me here was important, and it was important for us to get away from everything and have some time together.”

  “That’s important too, but we need to go back to Seattle because I need to do the right thing. And the right thing isn’t running away.”

  Mason pulled the covers down and sat up. “What did you do?”

  She started to rub her hand up and down his back again. “I did some things that I’m not proud of, and now it’s time to own up to what I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You remember that time I found out you took Elizabeth Stancil’s Wonder Woman action figure?”

  He nodded.

  “And what did I make you do?”

  “Take it back and apologize.”

  “Well, that’s kind of what I’m going to have to do. Now get up so we can get on.”

  ***

  MONDAY EVENING, REBECCA WALKED into the Seattle PD precinct downtown and demanded to speak to Detective Kittrell. She was led back to his desk where he met her with a shocked looked on his face.

  “Surprised to see me, Detective?” she said, offering her hand.

  He shook it and gestured for her to have a seat. “I heard that you were out of the country. What brings you back?”

  “I heard you’ve charged Jonathan Umbert with murder, and I came to clear his name.”

  Kittrell knit his brow and cocked his head to one side. “And how are you going to do that?”

  “By giving him an alibi.”

  “So, are you suggesting you were with him at the time he murdered the three bank robbers who killed your husband? Or were you the one who pulled the trigger?”

  She glared at him and shook her head in disgust. “No.” She paused and looked down. “He was with me on Friday night. I picked him up from the airport, and we went to a hotel. He was afraid there might be members of the media staked out at his home as well—and I just knew it would cast suspicion on us. Plus I didn’t want Mason to have to hear people saying ugly things about me.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “All night. Then early Saturday morning, I took him back to his office.”

  “And then you just left the country?”

  “He called me a little while later and told me to book the first flight I could to get out of here with Mason. He thought the FBI might try to put me away for my association with Dr. Lancaster. Do you know who he is?”

  “I’m aware of the story.” Kittrell scribbled some notes on his pad and dropped his pen emphatically. “You know I’m going to have to tell the FBI that you were here, right?”

  She nodded as a tear streaked down her face. “I know.”

  “You’re a brave woman coming in here like this. I’ll talk to the chief and see if we can get Umbert released.” He pushed a pad and pen in front of her. “I need the name of the hotel and a signed statement from you.”

  “What about Jonathan? Do you think he’ll be able to go home today?”

  “We’ll need to check out your alibi, go through the hotel’s security footage and see if everything meshes with our medical examiner’s timeline.”

  “And when it does?”

  “We’ll likely release him.”

  She exhaled and forced a smile. “That’s all I want. I just couldn’t bear the thought of him going to prison for something he didn’t do—even if it cost me my freedom.” She put her head down and started to write.

  After a few moments of silence, Kittrell spoke, “You must really love him.”

  She stopped and looked up. “I do. I never wanted things to go the way they did with Sid. He was the one who wanted to divorce me—though I wasn’t about to put up a fight. The way he was always running around on me … He didn’t deserve me, but he didn’t deserve to die like that either.”

  “Do you think someone targeted him?”

  She finished her statement and then signed it, pushing it back across the desk toward Kittrell. “I guess we’ll never know now, will we? With those robbers all dead, there’s not much point in pursuing it, is there?”

  “Don’t you want closure—and justice?”

  “I got closure when he served me with those papers. As for justice? Does justice ever really accomplish anything for the victims or the perpetrators?”

  Kittrell nodded. “Absolutely. Justice is what keeps us a civilized society, a free society. Without it, vengeance rules the day and we cage ourselves up in prisons of bitterness, rage, and envy.”

  “Who’s to say we aren’t already caging ourselves up with those things, Detective Kittrell?”

  “At least with justice, there’s an opportunity for us to live another way.”

  She stood up. “Unfortunately, our justice system isn’t always just.”

  “But it tries. And that’s all we can ask.”

  ***

  AN HOUR LATER, Rebecca sat in an FBI interrogation room. She took a sip of water from the glass in front of her and awaited her questioning. She’d done things wrong for a long time, but it was time to start doing things right.

  The agent entered the room as he stared down at a stack of papers. He loosened his tie and sat down opposite of Rebecca. “Mrs. Westin, I’m Agent Perryman, and we appreciate you coming to us today. I know it took a lot of courage for you to come in here today, especially with all you’ve been through lately.”

  “Thanks. I needed to help a friend, and there’s no use running from what I did any more.”

  “We’re prepared to give you immunity if you tell us about your relationship with Dr. Bill Lancaster and what you did for him.” He handed her a document. “You’ll see all the specific details there, but the paragraph I highlighted is the important part.”

  She nodded and signed the document before handing it back to him.

  “I’m ready to talk.”

  “So, tell us about your relationship with Dr. Lancaster. How did it come about?”

  “About two years after I had Mason, we started trying to get pregnant, but I couldn’t. So I met with a fertility specialist in Seattle right after we moved here. He recommended I reach out to Dr. Lancaster and see if he might be able to help me with some unconventional treatments.”

  “Did he tell you what you were taking?”

  “I asked, but he told me it was best not to. Plausible deniability is what he said I needed. So for about a year, I took the supplements he sent me.”

  “When did you learn you were taking HGH?”

  “I started to do a little research and figured out what it was.”

  “And you weren’t worried about taking it?”

  “Not at all. Even though it wasn’t working, I felt great, stronger, more vibrant. I had more energy than I’d had in years. Who wouldn’t keep taking something that made you feel like that?”

  “But you did stop?”

  “Yes, but only because I changed my mind about getting pregnant. Sid and I were having problems, and I didn’t want to complicate things by having another child, especially if I was going to leave him.”

  “Yet you stuck with him for another three years?”

  “Sid was at the end of his career then, and we didn’t have a ton of money. I didn’t see a bright future in that regard, and I certainly didn’t see him revitalizing his career. So, I started to plan for my own future.”

  “And you did that by distributing HGH to local professional players?”

  “Not at fi
rst. I initially thought I’d just resell my monthly allotment on the black market, but one month I accidentally got three times what I was supposed to have received. That was when I told Jonathan Umbert, Sid’s agent, about it. I’d flirted with him before and told him that I was thinking about leaving Sid, but I told him it wouldn’t be financially advantageous to do so. He told me he’d help get Sid a better contract. I wasn’t sure that was the answer long term for me either. That’s when I mentioned that I was getting extra HGH supplements that I wasn’t using.”

  “Did he direct you toward these other players?”

  “Not in the way you might think. He mentioned that he knew a few guys who might be interested and told me he could give me their contact information. When I decided to do it, he gave me all their cell phone numbers.”

  “How exactly did you deliver the drugs?”

  “When we first moved here, Sid bought a van to help move furniture for people in impoverished areas. He’d just drive around looking for people who needed help on his days off. Nobody ever knew it was him, but it was his way of connecting with people in the community and helping out some.”

  “He sounds like a great guy.”

  “He was—just not a great husband. If you only knew—”

  Agent Perryman poured himself a glass of water. “So, you used the van?”

  She nodded. “I would use the van to sell ice cream in a few parks around the city. The players knew when I would be there. They bought an ice cream cone with a little something extra—the location of the dead drop with the HGH.”

  “Sorry I have to ask, Mrs. Westin, but did you have anything to do with your husband’s death?”

  She sighed. “Don’t be sorry you have to ask that. I’m sad he’s gone, but I’m not sad I don’t have to be married to him any more. But to answer your question—no. I had nothing to do with it. I’m convinced it was just a robbery gone awry. Sid always wanted to be the hero, whether it was on the soccer field or elsewhere.”

  “Did your husband know what you were doing?”

  “He found out a few days before and confronted me about it. I told him I’d stop doing it.”