Cox finished the article.Then, as he always did with his newspapers, he folded this one tightly and dropped it down the hole.A soft whoosh told him it had been sucked away.
He resumed his cross-legged position on top of his bed, closed his eyes, and prayed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Well, well, well,” Marcus said.“What have we here?”
The two of them were in a sandwich shop in downtown that served a passable Italian club and better than passable coffee, odd for a sandwich shop, but she'd take it considering the swill she'd been forced to endure recently.
She swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and said in a singsong voice, “I do not know!Whatdowe have here?”
Marcus gave her a finger, and she chuckled.“Seriously, though, what do we have?”
“Check this out.”
He showed her his phone screen.It was open to an Instagram post.The post was an image of the news story of Hammond’s murder with the caption,God is good.The poster was by Michael Parker.
Kate lifted an eyebrow.“A relation of Gene Parker’s, I presume?”
“His son.”
Her eyebrows raised further.“Ah.”
“Ah, indeed.It seems that Michael isn’t the sort of Christian who believes in loving his enemies.”
“Shockingly, there are very few of those,” Kate said drily.
She looked up Michael.Thanks to the recency of Hammond's death, the internet returned several results right away.
Michael was eighteen years old now, which made him fifteen at the time of his father's murder.He was reported as being hysterical when he learned of his father's death.At the trial, he repeatedly shouted insults and threats at Hammond and eventually was barred from further court proceedings.He was in school when it was announced that Hammond was acquitted of the murder and reacted by trashing a classroom and earning himself a trip to jail, from where his mother rapidly retrieved him.
“Angry kid,” she said when she finished reviewing the story.
“I’ll say,” Marcus said.“Looks like he got into it with Hammond at a charity event three weeks ago.”
Kate looked at Marcus.“Really?”
"Yeah.I guess the Chicago Realtors' association was hosting a benefit for 'underhoused individuals.'"
“Go on.”
“Anyway, Hammond apparently got up to pledge eighteen percent of the coming year’s income to building low-income housing in central Chicago to replace buildings that had become old and unsafe.The crowd cheered, and Michael grabbed a microphone and asked when Hammond was going to admit that he murdered Gene Parker.”
“What did Hammond do?”
“Check it out.There’s a video.”
He showed Kate the phone.It revealed security footage of the incident, which took place at a downtown hotel.About sixty people were gathered, all wearing silk suits and evening gowns.Even Michael wore a nice suit, though his was ill-fitting, saggy in the middle, and a bit too long in the arms.Probably his father's suit.
Michael was holding a microphone and thrusting his finger toward the stage.Derek stood in front of his own microphone.He had about a foot on Michael and at least eighty pounds, but he shrank under the boy’s tirade.
The man's.He was eighteen now.Young, but legally an adult, and he'd be tried like one if he were charged with this murder.
The video didn’t have audio, so Kate couldn’t tell what he was saying, but whatever it was, he was passionate about it.His face was red, and spittle flew from his lips.After a moment, two beefy security officers approached.One of them reached for the microphone, and Michael spun around and landed a hard punch behind his right ear.The guard shook his head and stumbled backward, stunned.Apparently, Michael had some heat behind his blows.
The other guard rushed him.Michael threw the microphone, but the guard was prepared.He ducked it and wrapped Michael up, lifting him off the ground and carrying him from the room.The microphone landed in a woman's soup, splashing it all over her and the others at her table.She shrieked and jumped to her feet, hands spasming in front of her shoulders.
As the guard carried Michael from the room, he continued to shout at Hammond, lips pulled back from his teeth.
