Every Last Fear(91)

“Let’s get this straight,” Keller said. “You get a call out of the blue asking you to connect someone with a contract killer and you just say, ‘Okay, no problem’?”

Flanagan gave a one-shouldered shrug. “The caller knew things about my business.”

“And you connected him with a contractor,” the prosecutor chimed in, as if trying to speed things along. “A hitter no one seems to be able to verify even exists.”

Keller was realizing why this story hadn’t gone anywhere. The AUSA thought Flanagan was full of shit. And why wouldn’t he? Flanagan was desperate, and the story crazy.

“I was just the go-between. I had no idea the man was gonna…”

The prosecutor waved him quiet. “We get it. You were a choirboy.”

“So the contractor—I’ve never met him, just heard of him by rep—he doesn’t talk directly with clients. He told me to get one hundred K and the name and photo.”

“How did you reach him?” Keller asked. “And what do you mean you’d heard of him by rep? What had you heard?”

“If you’re in my line of work, you hear stuff. The contractor, he had a rep as someone who did clean work, specialized in making things look like an accident.”

“Did he have a name?”

“No, people just called him the Lip.”

Keller felt goose bumps crawl up her arms. She thought of Maggie’s photo of the man with the cleft lip scar.

“The caller drops the money, plus my cut, at a locker in the statehouse. And I take the cash and envelope to another drop for the Lip.”

“Why not just wire funds or send encrypted files?”

“Because that’s not how he wanted to do it,” Flanagan said, as if it were the dumbest question he’d ever heard. Keller presumed that cash, paper, was the only way to ensure no digital footprints. The hit man was old-school.

“But, you know, I’m a curious type,” Flanagan said.

Keller understood. The weasel not only hid to see who dropped off the envelope at the statehouse, he looked inside. No honor among thieves. “Who was the mark?”

“That guy on the news. From the TV show. Evan Pine.”

“Who hired the Lip?” Keller said, tired of Flanagan holding her in suspense.

The lawyer put a hand on her client’s arm, stopping him from responding. “He gets time served,” she said to the AUSA.

Flanagan offered a greasy smile that Keller wanted to smash in with her fist. The prosecutor looked at Keller. He must’ve been able to tell from her demeanor that Flanagan had said something that resonated. The Lip. It corroborated his story, connecting the man with the cleft lip scar Maggie had photographed. It wasn’t a coincidence. Flanagan was telling the truth.

“Make the deal,” Keller said.

“This is above my pay grade,” the prosecutor said. “I’ll be back.” He stepped out of the conference room.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, he looked at Flanagan’s lawyer and nodded.

The lawyer looked at her disgusting client and said, “Tell her.”





CHAPTER 61


EVAN PINE


BEFORE

“I’m tired, Daddy,” Tommy said.

It was only six o’clock, but Evan supposed it had been a long day. The sun and heat—all the walking—took it out of you. Tommy looked flushed, and hadn’t finished the dinner Evan had made him when Liv and Maggie went out for a long walk. It wasn’t like him to leave any mac and cheese behind. Liv constantly forced bottled water on them all, so he didn’t think Tommy was dehydrated. The half-empty bottle was next to Tommy’s plate.

Evan put his hand on his son’s forehead. A little warm. Probably nothing to worry about, but ever since the appendix scare, Evan never took routine symptoms for granted. Tonight, though, it seemed like simple fatigue. Hell, Evan could curl up and go to bed right now himself.

“Let’s get you to bed, kiddo,” Evan said. Tommy was already nod ding off right at the table. Evan carried him to his room. He dug out Tommy’s pj’s from the suitcase, then lowered him to the bed.

“Arms up,” Evan said.

His son lifted his arms, which were noodles. Evan tugged off Tommy’s shirt. He gently slipped the pajama top over Tommy’s head.

Tommy flopped on his back and Evan repeated the maneuver with the bottoms. Evan tucked him under the covers, positioned Sweet Bear next to him.

Evan gazed at his son. The rise and fall of his tiny chest. His handsome face. He kissed him on the head and clicked off the light.

Back in the living room, Liv and Maggie had returned from their walk. They seemed somber, subdued.

“Everything okay?”

Liv looked at Maggie. “Yeah. We’re just tired—right, Mags?”

His daughter gave Liv an admiring look. Like they shared a secret and it was just for them. “Yeah, just tired,” Maggie said.

“There’s some mac and cheese or leftover spaghetti,” Evan said. “Or I can make you something?”

“I’m not hungry,” Liv said. “Too much food on this vacation.” She retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and took a drink.

“Maybe later,” Maggie said. She also took a bottle of water, then went to the bedroom.