AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Let’s walk.” Cassie gestured to the path ahead and hiked her bag up higher on her shoulder. “I can already feel the hypothermia setting in.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Harris replied. Cutting to the left, she led Cassie down another path.
Cassie pushed her hands deep into her pockets. “Tell me more about this flash drive.”
“I haven’t looked through the whole thing yet—”
Cassie stopped dead in her tracks. “Wait. You see one piece of information that points to Chicago, and you decide to hop on a plane before going through the entire thing?”
Harris rolled her eyes and grabbed the crook of Cassie’s elbow, dragging her forward. “Relax. I’ve gone through most of it, but there’s still a lot to figure out. Some of it’s coded. Some of it’s a bunch of numbers without context. These things take time.”
The chill in the air made Cassie snippy. “And remind me again why we’re here?”
With all the patience of a parent explaining to her child why the sky is blue, Harris said, “Randall Sherman was an accountant. A few weeks ago, he came forward to turn on Aguilar. We figured he was running Aguilar’s books.” She patted the pocket of her wool coat. “And considering what’s on this drive, it looks like we were right.”
“Why did he turn on Aguilar?”
“His wife is pregnant. He thought he was in too deep, and he got cold feet.”
Cassie felt like a broken record. “And Chicago?”
“There’s a folder full of bank transactions, a couple of years’ worth. There were only about four or five variations in the numbers.” She paused to see if Cassie followed her train of thought. When Harris was met with silence, she continued. “The files read like services rendered. A flat fee for a project completed. The night of David’s murder is on that list.”
“Services rendered?” Cassie didn’t like the way her mind was putting two and two together. “You’re talking about an assassin?”
Harris shrugged, looking far too casual for the topic at hand. “Someone murdered David with a police-issue sniper rifle. It was a professional job. So, yes, it makes sense.”
“Let me get this straight.” Cassie’s teeth rattled, and she wasn’t sure it was just from the cold. “We’re in Chicago, following a lead on the assassin who killed David?” No matter how many times she said assassin, it didn’t make the word any easier to swallow. “Does that not sound insane to you?”
“We’re following the money trail. If this person is doing jobs for Aguilar, they could be anywhere—Savannah, Chicago, Tallahassee, Rome.”
“You think Aguilar needs to take care of business in Rome?”
“No, but the point still stands. I doubt we’ll run into David’s killer unless we sound the alarms, and we’re trying to avoid that.” Frustration flashed across Harris’s face. “We have a bunch of numbers in a bunch of files, but nothing tied to physical evidence. That’s why we’re here. We need to figure out where that money went and prove it was a payoff for David’s murder.”
“You mentioned an address?”
Harris bobbed her head. They were approaching the end of the path, and yet another fountain rose in the distance. “I imagine Sherman put together the information on the flash drive quickly, hoping to offload it to David and get out of Dodge as soon as he could. Some folders make more sense than others. This one didn’t have much context, but he had included an address. I figure that’s where we start.”
Cassie stopped at the foot of the fountain and looked up into the metallic face of the sixteenth president of the United States. Abraham Lincoln: The Man was cast in 1887 and stood twelve feet tall. It depicted the former leader rising from a chair, preparing to give a speech. Holding his lapel, he looks down in contemplation. As with most representations of the historical figure, the statue exudes an air of regality and quiet intelligence.
Looking into his face reminded Cassie of Lincoln’s complex history. Though many consider him the Great Emancipator, historical evidence suggested that while the president didn’t agree with the institution of slavery, he also didn’t view Black Americans as equal. As beloved as Lincoln is, and as wonderful as his accomplishments have been, he was still human—full of flaws, contradictions, and secrets.
Cassie turned to Harris. “David left me a letter.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “When
?”
“I’m not sure when he wrote it. Lisa gave it to me the day of the funeral.”
Harris hesitated. “You never told me.”
“I didn’t open it right away.” Cassie found it hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. But that last day in New Orleans, I decided to see what it said.”
Harris’s voice was soft. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“David wanted me to.” A pressure settled into Cassie’s chest, and she had to fight to get enough air to speak. “He wanted me to tell you this wasn’t your fault. He knew what he was getting into.”
