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I rumpled his hair. “Tough break, kid. See you soon.”
I kissed him and Mom goodbye and headed into the garage. I got into the car and backed out. Rain peppered the windshield as I drove over Boston’s gritty streets. Now that Violet and Jack were both in my house, I set my sights on the next job. Hunting down whoever killed my boy’s mother and delivering them a slow, painful death.
Detective Walsh sat at the bar with his cop buddies. Peanut shells littered the floor. As he swilled his cheap beer, I watched. He had pale, sagging skin and droopy eyebrows. A shock of white hair. I’d already staked out his apartment. He lived alone. No girlfriend. Recently divorced. Unfortunately, not on our payroll.
He left ten minutes before closing. Digging into his jacket, he grasped his keys. He turned the corner and stumbled toward a Cadillac. I followed him at a distance. His drunken swagger made him an easy target. As he fumbled with his keys, I grabbed him. My hand clamped over his mouth as I dragged him into the shadows. I slammed his head into the brick wall of the building beside us, gripping his collar. Then I forced him into the trunk of my car, slamming it shut. His muffled shouts died to a quiet whimper as I got into the driver’s seat.
I drove to an isolated spot far from the city’s prying eyes. The area was desolate, perfect for what I had in mind. I parked and exited the car, my heart pounding. I slid a ski mask on and pulled out my gun. Then I opened the trunk.
Walsh rolled over, blinking. “What’s happening?”
“Let’s chat about Elise Harper. You’re going to tell me everything you know.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your worst nightmare if you don’t talk. Names, details, I want it all.”
“I got no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t test me. I’ll make sure you never walk again. The case stalled. Why?”
“I-I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation!”
“Trust me, Detective, what I’ll do will be much worse.”
He flinched. “Alright, alright. Some big shot wanted it buried.”
“And the killer?”
“Evidence was thin. Got some blurry footage from a store camera. Couldn’t ID anyone. Pushed for more help, but got stonewalled. The powers that be didn’t want a mess. Mayor’s fighting to keep his seat, doesn’t need a murder mucking up the works.”
“So you’re sitting on your hands?”
“Got nothing solid. It’s all whispers and shadows. Heard it was a professional job, but it goes cold anytime I get close. Like someone’s erasing steps.”
I released him, stepping back. “If you’re lying?—”
“I’m not! I swear. I have a daughter. I can’t imagine what that family went through. Just let me out of here. I won’t breathe a word.”
His desperation rang too true. This wasn’t going to be a straightforward hunt.
I holstered the gun. Shoved him inside the trunk and shut the door. Then I leaned against the car, my mind racing. I needed to take the cop back. Then I had to break this to Violet. She was expecting results, not more dead ends. How would I tell her that her sister’s killer might never be found?
As I headed back to the city, the weight of unfulfilled promises hung over me, mixing with the early morning mist on the empty streets. One thing was crystal clear—a murder-for-hire was behind Elise’s death. But who’d do that to Elise?
I’d find him, and when I did, the bastard would wish he’d never crossed a Costa.
SEVENTEEN
ACHILLE
I got home late.
Guilt nagged me the entire way for missing Jack’s bedtime, but I’d make it up to him. Stopped by the store to grab orange juice, buttermilk, flour, and bacon. The bag of groceries swung as I stepped into the house. As I put the food away, a faint strumming drifted from another room. I closed the fridge and followed the music into an office I never used.
Violet sat on the floor with a small, guitar-shaped instrument in her lap. A yellow pick flashed as she plucked strings, the sound higher and sweeter than I expected. As I entered, she sang low, in a haunting melody.
You sought the bright lights, beyond our old streams,
