Page 70 of Fatal Pattern

Everybody in Millie Beach had heard the rumor. Sullivan wasn’t clean. Hearing it laid out now only made her feel worse for Corbin growing up with a father who’d sold off his own badge.

Janice continued, “Damien said he was part of a larger operation. Paid to look the other way on certain arrests, lose evidence. Sometimes plant evidence. It paid well, and he needed the money.”

“I suspect he also enjoyed the power trip,” Blade said.

The waitress appeared with the coffeepot, steam curling from the dark liquid as she topped off each mug. Janice’s manicured hand dismissed the offered menu with a sharp gesture, and the waitress gathered the empty pie plate before retreating.

“At some point, Barclay started using leverage instead of money,” Janice said. “Photos, recordings, documentation of everything Damien had done. Classic blackmail. Do what I say, or I’ll destroy your life. He was called into the office three days before the shooting, and Barclay laid into him. Damien knew he was in trouble, knew Barclay was planning something. So he took precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?” Tori asked.

“Damien isn’t as impulsive as everyone thinks. A mean drunk, yeah. But he was smart enough to keep records. Handwritten notes, copies of evidence, everything he needed to prove corruption at the highest level. His insurance policy. But Damien made a huge mistake.” Janice tapped the table with her index finger. “One night, he’d been drinking, and he mouthed off to Barclay about it. Said he had enough evidence to take everyone down. You can imagine what happened when he sobered up.”

“He realized what he’d done,” Blade said.

“And the danger he’d put himself in,” Tori added.

“You’ve nailed it,” Janice said. “So the night before Barclay fired him, the night before the shooting, Damien hid his insurance policy.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. If Damien had kept track of everything he’d covered up or hidden, he might have information about her parents’ murder. Maybe even her brother’s new legal name. Proof that Damien had been there that night.

“Okay, so where’s this evidence?” she asked. “Did he tell you?”

“Sorta.” Janice let out a soft laugh. “He said, ‘The man who saved Tori can find it in the bag from the first fight.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

“Does he mean Stryker? He’s the man who saved me. Has he been sitting on this evidence all these years?”

Blade was shaking his head even as Tori finished her sentence. “No way. Stryker wouldn’t look the other way on this.”

“Well, Damien didn’t have a chance to explain about that or the fractals. And I’m sorry, but he didn’t tell me anything about your brother,” Janice said. “The warden interrupted our meeting, saying I’d had plenty of time to get my signature and confer with my client. She adiosed me right out of there.”

“Sounds familiar,” Blade said.

Hard to picture Janice giving ground to anyone. “She really just cut you off? Can she do that?”

“Warden runs that place, so yeah.” Janice leaned back and crossed her arms. “But I made sure Maggie Quick understood. If she stuck her ear where it didn’t belong, I’d end her.” Her smile showed teeth.

The coffee’s dark surface reflected Tori’s face back at her, blurred and distorted.

The man who saved her. The bag from the first fight.

Damien, with his stupid cryptic messages. Leads that only took them in circles. Questions that only led to more questions.

“We need that notebook,” she said.

Blade nodded. “Yeah. We do.”

20

The sound cut through the gray fog like a blade through silk. Voices. Two voices, familiar but distant, as if filtered through water.

“I wish Stryker would just wake up.”

He was awake. He was listening. Speak again.

Who was that? It sounded like . . . Tori?

More words drifted past, syllables he couldn’t grasp, meanings that slipped away before he could hold them. His body remained a prison, unresponsive to every command he sent down broken neural pathways. His entire life he’d had reflexes. Control. Lightning-fast reactions that had kept him alive in the ring, on the street, in uniform. Now, nothing.