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38
Dressed in jeans, oversize jacket, sunglasses, and a generic black ball cap, Kara listened to the press conference outside city hall. Damage Control 101, she thought, watching the crowd, looking for any sign of Conrad, the man she believed killed Craig Dyson. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she had his face etched in her mind and wouldn’t miss him.
As person after person spoke onstage, Kara realized they weren’t saying anything of value. It was hollow, empty, a lot of acronyms and platitudes and concern about taxpayers and the homeless. They said the exact same thing in different ways. They were conducting an audit. Concerned about waste. Cared about the poor. Apple pie and Uncle Sam, whatever. It was like each sentence had been crafted to be a sound bite alone, then strung together to make it seem they had a plan. But the plan was clear to Kara: cover our asses.
Kara didn’t understand many of the details in this case. Violet had laid everything out to her yesterday, but she barely followed. Even after talking with the group yesterday at First Contact, she didn’t exactly know what was going on. Fraud that might not be fraud, corruption that might be legal, grants given to friends and family that appeared to be part of the system and everyone said nothing to see here, folks.
But Kara understood murder. One of these people—or all of these people—had conspired to kill her friend Craig Dyson because he was going to expose them. Which told her that there was something deeply wrong with what they had been doing with all the money they funneled to the nonprofits that Violet, Colton and Will had identified. You don’t kill someone unless you fear exposure for a crime. Or if someone was threatening your payday.
Her gut told her they killed for greed and power. People in power never wanted to give it up. Once there, they would do anything to keep control. But murder? Murder was about greed and fear. The exposure Craig threatened would shut off the free-flowing spigot of dollars going to these organizations that profited their brothers, their sisters, their sons and daughters. And, by extension, themselves.
She would end it. Not alone, but with her team. She would get justice for Craig...and justice for Sunny.
The press in the audience threw out questions that the people onstage answered by simply rephrasing from their previous comments. Her phone vibrated and she stepped farther away from the crowd to answer it.
“Quinn.”
“It’s Costa. Rebecca Chavez has been relieved of duty and Brian is sending everything to OPR for a full investigation, but we have her.”
“Good. Sloane really went above and beyond.”
“She’s smart.”
“But Chavez didn’t admit to anything.”
“No. She’s still pushing the ‘Kara Quinn is behind the curtain’ card, but it’s not flying. Now that Violet is safe, I turned over the receipts to Granderson, just for the files, so you’re officially cleared. And Michael interviewed the clerk at the gas station who admired the Harley—got him on record as well.”
“Good thinking,” Kara said.
“Everyone is on this. Michael just called me about the press conference. This isn’t going to end our investigation.”
“Nope,” she said.
“Are you still there?”
“It’s wrapping up, but—”
Colton approached her. Even though he wore a low-brimmed Dodgers cap, big Army jacket and mirrored sunglasses, people who knew him well would know it was him. Bold, right in front of police headquarters, when most of your friends and colleagues thought you were dead.
“Kara?” Matt said because she’d gone silent.
“Give me one sec.” She muted the phone and turned to Colton. “What?”
“Will wants us to come to First Contact. He has something.”
“He should bring it to headquarters.”
“He says there’s a leak and he trusts you and he trusts me. That’s it. He sounds worried.”
She turned her back on Colton and unmuted Matt’s call. “Matt?”
“I’m still here.”
“Will has some info he says is important. I’m going to First Contact.”
“I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you there,” she said.
