by David Hosp
‘So he killed her.’
‘Not right away. I think at that point he just hoped that François would get around to her, and his problems would be solved without him ever having to lift a finger. I think that’s why he set NetMaster on us, to keep us from being too quick to solve the murders.’
‘The car that almost ran you down in front of Yvette’s house?’
I nod. ‘And then breaking my car windows. I think that was all intended just to scare us – convince us that we didn’t want to be looking into these murders. As long as there was no connection to the company, François would have been able to continue his killing spree and it was just a matter of time before he killed Kendra.’
‘They were right about that,’ Killkenny says. ‘If you hadn’t been stalking her, she would have been killed that night you found her at her house.’
‘I wasn’t stalking her.’
‘Right.’
Finn puts a hand on my arm to tamp down my anger. ‘Let’s just get this over with,’ he says.
‘Anyway, things got more serious when they realized that Kendra was starting to talk to me about NextLife. That presented a much greater danger to them. Just scaring me wasn’t enough anymore. They couldn’t afford to have her giving me any more information.’
‘So NetMaster beat the hell out of you,’ Killkenny says.
‘Yeah. And he showed up at my house with a knife.’
‘Do you think he would have killed you?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is that he’s lucky Ma didn’t kill him.’
Killkenny smiles. He has genuine admiration for Ma. ‘He was lucky about that. Though maybe she caught up with him.’
I look at him uneasily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘NetMaster has disappeared,’ he says. ‘We’re looking for him, but it’s like he’s vanished into thin air.’
‘Really?’ I work to keep my face neutral, my voice calm.
He nods. ‘NetMaster’s not his real name, either.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘Dieter Schlosser. That’s his proper name. He was a real scumbag over in Europe before he became a real scumbag over here. We’re assuming he was involved in the murder of the whore.’
I hate that word. It punctures me like a spear through my chest. ‘She wasn’t a whore,’ I say with quiet ferocity. I can feel everyone in the room looking at me, as the room goes silent for a moment. ‘She was a girl.’
Killkenny looks around at the other faces, gauging their level of offense. He looks back at me and shrugs, making clear that he doesn’t really care how I’m feeling. ‘Fine. We’re assuming that NetMaster had something to do with the Madison girl’s murder. Does that make sense to you?’
I have in my mind the image of NetMaster strapped to the chair in that warehouse, his eyes burning into me, convinced that I had killed Kendra. Unfortunately it’s a visual that will likely never leave me. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Cormack was right. NetMaster wasn’t lying; he genuinely believed that I had killed Kendra. I shake my head. ‘I think Tom did that on his own. I think it was a crime of opportunity. He may not even have told NetMaster.’
Killkenny looks surprised. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t buy it.’
I’m staring at him. ‘You don’t buy what?’ I’m trying to figure out whether I’ve said too much.
‘I don’t buy your hunch,’ he says. ‘I think NetMaster must have been involved.’
I shrug. ‘You may be right. You’ll have to ask him when you find him.’
‘You don’t have any idea where he is, do you?’
‘How would I know where he is?’ I’m trying not to sound defensive, but I suspect I’ve failed.
‘I don’t know. You weren’t close, but you worked at the same company. Maybe you heard about where he goes, that sort of thing.’
I shake my head. ‘Like you say, we weren’t close.’
Killkenny drags the silence out for a few more moments. ‘I think that’s all we’ve got,’ he says. ‘You’ll let us know if you think of anything else you forgot to tell us?’
‘Of course.’
Finn stands up. ‘I’ll expect to see the dismissal of all charges against my client filed today, correct?’
‘It’ll be filed,’ the DA says. He and the others file out of the room. No one thanks me or shakes my hand or offers an apology. In their eyes, I’m still guilty of something. Maybe they’re right.
Finn and I make our way through the station house and out onto the street. My Corolla is parked there. The windows are still broken, but they can be fixed. It’s a reliable car, and there’s nothing quite as comforting in this world as a dependable car.
‘I’ll give you a shout when the papers are filed,’ Finn says. ‘Congratulations.’
I get into my car. ‘Thanks.’
‘You celebrating tonight?’
‘Not really. Just a dinner.’
‘A few close friends?’
I nod. ‘Something like that.’
The little brick patio out the back of Ma’s house is large enough only for a barbecue grill, a cooler and an old wooden table big enough for six or seven people. That’s bigger than we need for tonight. Cormack is standing over the grill, looking like he’s in control of a supertanker as it heads out to sea. Ma and I are sitting at the table, sipping beers. It’s cooled off a little bit, but the patio traps heat and keeps it like a warming tray, so I’ve got a layer of perspiration over my forehead. That’s fine with me, though; it’s a healthy sweat. Not a drop of anxiety.
The screen door slams and Yvette steps out with a tray of steaks and marinated chicken breasts. She’s wearing a short skirt and a tight white shirt that looks perfect on her, and she catches me staring at her. ‘Thanks,’ she says with a smile.
‘For what?’
‘For noticing.’
‘Hard not to.’
‘Over here, lass!’ Cormack bellows. ‘The coals are ready and waiting, and I’m starved like a man coming home to shore!’
She squeezes past the table and puts the tray down next to the grill, grabs a beer and comes to sit next to me. ‘Nice day,’ she says, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Best day,’ I say.
‘I like what you’ve done with your hair,’ Ma says, looking over at Yvette.
I study her hair for a moment. It’s funny: because it’s always a tangled, multicolored mess, I stopped noticing her hair a long time ago. But looking now, I notice that it’s muted – a rich auburn with understated highlights. It’s also neatly brushed, which may be a first. ‘I like it, too,’ I say.
‘Thanks. Trying something a little different,’ she says. She seems almost uncomfortable with it.
‘Are you done?’ I ask her.
She nods. ‘They let me in this morning to get the last of my things. I’m not going back.’
NextLife has been shut down for two weeks as the cops and the Feds and the IRS agents crawl through the system trying to figure out where the mess ends. I’m not convinced that it does end.
‘What happens to the company now?’ Yvette asks.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘The website has been shut down, which probably means that it’s dead as a portal. The Internet generation isn’t known for its patience, and the publicity over all this is a killer. No one is ever again going to trust NextLife with their personal information.’
‘Charlatans,’ Ma mutters. ‘I always told you there was no good at that place. No way to make an honest living there.’
‘You were right, Ma,’ I concede. She looks good. Stronger again, and I wonder whether she might just beat off this cancer for a while.
‘So the company’s dead?’ Yvette asks.
‘Well, it’s safe to say that the IPO won’t be going forward. Still, there’s a good deal of value in the technology. My guess is that the investment bankers wi
ll be able to put together a private sale to some private equity group, and they’ll be able to make a ton of money licensing the technology to other companies.’
‘You still have your stock?’
I nod. ‘It’s not gonna be worth the twenty million it once was, but I may still get a few hundred thousand. Maybe more. It’ll take a year for all that to shake out, though.’
‘Not bad,’ Yvette says.
‘Blood money,’ Ma mutters.
‘As opposed to what Dad used to bring home?’ I chide.
‘Your father, rest his soul, made an honest living,’ Ma says sharply. ‘He may have been on the wrong side of the legal ledger at times, but that didn’t make it dishonest.’
‘Easy, old girl,’ Cormack says from the grill. ‘Morality’s a slippery fish, if you try to hold it too tightly.’
She waves her hand at him. ‘Bah! Fool.’
‘I am that,’ he agrees. He brings the first installment of charred meat over and puts it in the middle of the table. ‘Don’t wait for the chef.’
We tuck into the food, and a few moments later Cormack joins us with some more. He sits down and starts eating. After gorging for a few minutes, he sits back with a satisfied look on his face and takes a swig of beer. ‘So, what will you do now?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer honestly. ‘I’d like to get back to school at some point, but I don’t have the cash for it at the moment.’
He regards me and Yvette pensively. ‘You could be useful to people like me,’ he says, an air of philosophy in his voice. ‘Both of you.’
‘That’s nice,’ I say, ‘but I’ve never really wanted to head in that direction. No offense, of course.’
‘I’m not suggesting anything illegal,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘But the two of you together did a remarkable job running this thing to ground. Investigating it using a whole range of skills that few have.’
‘What’s your point?’ Yvette asks.
‘No real point,’ he says. ‘It’s just that there’s room in this town for competent private investigators. And you can do that on the right side of the law – at least most of the time.’
It’s an interesting idea. ‘We’d need licenses, wouldn’t we?’
He nods. ‘You’d need to know someone with reasonably decent connections to get that. I wonder if you’re acquainted with anyone like that.’ He winks.
Yvette looks at me. ‘What do you think?’
I lean over and kiss her. ‘I think I don’t want to think about the future at the moment,’ I say. ‘Right now, all I want to do is enjoy the afternoon.’
Acknowledgments
It has often been said that writing is a solitary endeavor, and there is some truth in that. The process of editing and publishing, however, is very much a group effort. I have been fortunate to have a great team to work with, and much of the credit for any merit in the final product goes to them. At Macmillan, the leader of this team, whose insights and suggestions were invaluable, is Trisha Jackson. Other crucial members include Ellie Wood, Ali Blackburn, Natasha Harding, Stuart Wilson, James Long and Tom Skipp. Thanks so much to you all, and to the wonderful people at Macmillan who have been such a huge support. To Aaron Priest, Lisa Erbach Vance, and those at the Aaron Priest Agency, as well as Arabella Stein in London: Thank you for always believing in me and for all your love and support.
Finally, thanks to my family: My wife Joanie for all she does, Reid and Samantha, Mom and Dad, Ted, and so many wonderful people in my extended group of family and friends, without whose support I would never be able to write.
THE GUARDIAN
by David Hosp
When a sacred relic goes missing, its importance is only the beginning . . .
When a CIA informant from Kandahar is gunned down in a suburban area of Virginia outside DC, special Agent Jack Saunders is tasked with uncovering a plot that could alter the fate of Afghanistan and unsettle a tepid peace in the Middle East. But when a raid on a radical safe house goes horribly wrong, Jack finds himself without support within his own government.
Determined to find answers on his own, Jack enlists the aid of Cianna Phelan, a disgraced former war hero trying to put her life back together. When Cianna’s brother, Charlie, returns to South Boston from active duty in Afghanistan and immediately goes missing, Cianna and Jack find themselves in a race against time not only to save his life, but to prevent an international conspiracy at the highest levels of the US intelligence community. As lives are lost in the warrens of Boston’s clannish underworld, Jack and Cianna discover they are on the trail of one of the most sacred artefacts in all of Islam. And when the bullets start to fly, they realize they can never know whom to trust, and nothing is what it seems.
GAME OF DEATH
David Hosp is a trial lawyer who has spent a portion of his time working pro bono on behalf of wrongly convicted individuals. He finds time to write his novels on his daily commute by boat across Boston Harbour. He lives with his wife and family outside the city.
Acclaim for David Hosp
‘This [Next of Kin] is one of the best thrillers I’ve read in a long time, reminiscent of John Grisham, but, I think, better and with a stronger, more sympathetic cast of characters . . . A truly absorbing page-turner’
Richard & Judy Book Club review
‘The detail and subplots make Hosp such a gripping writer . . . he is growing and developing with each new book’
Daily Express
‘This is a knockout; Grisham with passion, even a touch of the great Michael Connelly thrown in . . . It crackles from the first page to the last and never lets up for a second’
Daily Mail
‘Hosp is a born storyteller, a master of quirky character and detail who enthrals through the simple, but elusive, expedient of never seeming to write a dull sentence’
Daily Telegraph
Also by David Hosp
The Guardian
Next of Kin
Among Thieves
Innocence
The Betrayed
Dark Harbour
First published 2014 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2014 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-5173-6
Copyright © David Hosp 2014
Cover Images © Shutterstock
The right of David Hosp to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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