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Goddard communicated that to Dunst through his earpiece, then got on his radio to inform the sharpshooters in case they hadn’t spied the gun through their scopes.
Goddard started the engine of their department sedan but left the lights off. He used the radio again to speak to the van full of cops waiting for his signal. “The subject has an accomplice. White male, approximately five feet ten, fifty years old. He has a handgun. Be ready for the takedown. On my signal.”
Neil Fogarty was frisking Dunst, who was frowning in a very calm and dignified kind of way, his comments audible via the microphone hidden in the pen poking out of the breast pocket of his suit.
“Is this really necessary?” Dunst asked, affronted.
“Yeah.” Seemingly satisfied, Fogarty pointed to the suitcase, obviously cuffed to Dunst’s arm. “Open it or I’ll cut it off your arm,” the man growled.
Dunst took a step back. “I want to see the coins.”
Fogarty looked around suspiciously. “We discussed this. Money first.”
Dunst huffed out an impatient breath. “Very well.” He set the briefcase on the trunk of the Bentley and pressed his thumb to the print reader and the briefcase popped open.
“Whoa,” Kit whispered, knowing the briefcase was full of cash, but startled at the sight of it nonetheless.
That was a lot of money.
“Three million, five hundred thousand,” Dunst said, quickly closing the briefcase. “As we discussed. Now let me see the coins.”
Through her binoculars, Kit saw Jackie’s man smile. “Goddard,” she hissed. Because that was an evil smile if ever she’d seen one.
“Move!” Goddard shouted into his radio. “Snipers, be ready!”
Fogarty pulled the gun from his waistband and pressed it to Dunst’s temple.
And then a shot cracked the air. One of the snipers had fired. Fogarty’s gun flew out of his hand and dropped to the pavement. His left hand gripped his right wrist, which was now bleeding profusely.
A shocked look on his face, Fogarty backed away, looking around and finally up. “Motherfuckers,” he screamed. “Cops, Jackie. Go!”
Fogarty dropped to his knees to grab his gun, but Dunst swung the briefcase and clocked the bastard upside his head. Fogarty rolled to his side, groaning.
Goddard had their car in drive and was crossing the street to the parking lot as Jackie’s SUV took off like a rocket. Kit thought they might lose her, but the police van and several cruisers came around the last store in the strip mall, blocking Jackie’s path. Her tires squealed as she hit the brakes.
Goddard pulled up beside the van as the SWAT team poured out, ten rifles aimed at Jackie.
Goddard jumped from the car, Kit and Connor following. Dunst had already locked the briefcase full of cash in the Bentley’s trunk. He now stood rubbing his wrist where the cuff had cut into his skin when he’d used the briefcase as a weapon. One of the SWAT members had cuffed Neil Fogarty.
Goddard cuffed Jackie Beaton, then came over to check on Dunst. “You okay, Perry?”
“I’m fine. Minor abrasions.” He glared at the man on the ground. “Asshole. Did you get the coins?”
“Let’s go find out.” Goddard led them back to the SUV and popped the hatch. There, sitting in an old Amazon shipping carton, was the small trunk that Roxanne had taken from Benny’s apartment.
“They didn’t even put it in a lockbox.” Pulling on a pair of gloves, Kit lifted the lid, quickly counted the coins, and exhaled with relief. “They seem to all be here. Can I chat with Jackie?”
“Let me read her her rights first.” Goddard Mirandized Jackie, then stepped back. “She’s all yours.”
Kit crouched next to Jackie, who lay on the pavement, her hands cuffed behind her back. Connor crouched on the other side of the woman.
“Jackie Beaton, I’m Detective McKittrick, Homicide. This is my partner, Detective Robinson. Detective Goddard has questions for you regarding the stolen items in your possession. But we have only one question. Where is your sister?”
Jackie’s lips pursed and she said nothing.
“Theft is one thing,” Connor said quietly. “Murder is something else. Roxanne killed three people this week. One was a retired cop. We will find her and she will go down for the crimes. Right now, we only have you on possessing stolen merchandise. I don’t think you want to add three homicides to that. Especially not that of a cop.”
“Tell her, Jackie,” Fogarty spat. “Roxie’s not worth it. She fucked up. I’m not protecting her.”
