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“Don’t wait up?” Quinn asked, his lips twitching.
“I have a sneaking suspicion that he was here all last night,” Grady said. “Probably shouldn’t have let him drive.”
Quinn rubbed his forehead. Riley’s workaholic habits were going to get him into trouble one day. Quinn couldn’t even remember the last time he’d taken a day off.
“What was that phone call?” he asked instead of the lecture he could feel rising. It would be wasted on Grady since it needed to be directed at Riley. Grady was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a workaholic. His work/life balance was enviable. He was able to shut off at the end of the day, or morning, or whenever they clocked off based on their caseload, and he didn’t think about it again until he clocked back in. A skill most of them would have killed for.
“The prison,” Grady said flatly.
Didn’t sound like it had been a successful phone call. “Did you have trouble getting access to Kenny?” Benjamin Kenny had been one of the four men arrested as suspects at the drug raid that Will had led. Jericho/Warren had walked free, but the remaining three—Kenny, Chris Digby, and Dylan Hall—were in jail awaiting trial.
“You got a Ouija board?” Grady drawled. “Because then we might have a shot.”
Of all the responses Quinn had been expecting, that wasn’t any of them. “What?”
“He’s dead. The prison is still investigating, but they suspect it was a suicide.”
Quinn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the paperwork. That seemed too coincidental. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No fucking way.” Grady jabbed his finger at the files Quinn had been looking at. “First the fire and now this? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone is cleaning house.”
It did appear that way. Except that Howell and Derrick were already dead. So, who was cleaning house?
“We don’t know that the victim in the fire is connected,” Quinn pointed out. “We don’t have a positive ID yet.” He needed to give Allery a call and ask how her progress was going. Or check his emails; she might have sent it through already.
“You don’t think it’s Boiler?”
Quinnknewit wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly come right out and say that. “I think we need to find out first before we come to any conclusions.” What he needed to do was talk to Sebastian about Jericho. Or find a way to talk to Jericho. Or…
He leaned back and looked down at the address, worrying his lip between his teeth.
“What are you thinking?” Grady asked.
“I’m thinking that I want to get into Howell’s place,” Quinn murmured. Maybe there was something physically there, some indication of what it was they wanted Sebastian dead over. He doubted anyone yet knew that Howell wasn’t coming back. Quinn could go through the proper channels, but warrants could take days unless he asked for a special request, and explainingwhyhe wanted one would be tricky. Whoever had killed the victim in Warren’s apartment had known what they were doing and had covered their tracks well. And if Sebastian’s shadowy benefactor thought there was still a danger, Quinn wasn’t willing to risk it. He wasn’t going to wait around for someone to get a chance at Sebastian again.
“Without him knowing?” Grady’s mouth lifted in mirth. “I’m always there for breaking and entering, but I think that the courts frown on us getting our intel that way. Just FYI.”
“He won’t know.”
“Something you want to tell me?”
Quinn stood and haphazardly flipped the files closed, shoving them back into the pile without ceremony. “C’mon, I have a lead I want to follow up.” He checked he had his keys, phone, and wallet and headed for the door.
“To Howell’s?” Grady asked. “You think he’s just gonna let us come in and poke around?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” If there was one person that Quinn trusted implicitly, it was Grady. He was grumpy and temperamental, but he was loyal, and he and Quinn had been through a lot together. He’d have Quinn’s back even if he thought Quinn was insane.
Chapter Six
Fortyminuteslater,theypulled up two doors down from Howell’s plain brick house, deep in Werrington. The neighbourhood was generic, quiet streets with a mixture of modern and dark brick houses, four-unit blocks, and commission housing. They’d passed a corner convenience store and a small post office on their way through.
Grady hadn’t spoken for the last ten minutes, and Quinn was letting him process. He shut the car off and waited. They couldn’t wait too long before they started looking suspicious. His silver Camry stood out a little in this particular section of the neighbourhood. Though it would get dark soon, which would help.
“That’s fucked up,” Grady finally said.
“Which part?” It could have applied to any point, really. A lot had happened in the span of less than three weeks.
“All of it? Black ops groups, house invasions, shady clandestine deals?” He made a disgusted noise and slapped the console. “I fuckingknewDevlin was getting help from somewhere, the bastard.”
