AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Jesus fucking Christ, what is it?” I say to Tony when I pick up. “Can’t I even get an hour of peace around here?”
“Sorry, boss. Got a slight issue you might want to be made aware of.”
“Yeah? The kind we can discuss on the phone?”
“Where are you? I’ll come meet you.”
“My boxing gym. Give me thirty.” I hang up, turning back to my coach to finish running drills before we get into sparring.
I slam my locker shut just as Tony texts me to let me know he’s outside. “Thanks, Mike.” I nod toward my coach, grab my duffel bag, and head outside to meet Tony.
“Sorry, boss,” he says, nodding toward the gym. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“All good. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a detective snooping around.”
“Snooping around? Where?”
“Apparently, he’s been asking around about Dane, about that night, about your relationship with Dane and with…” His eyes shift away for a second. “Mrs. Ashford.”
I nod. “He come by the office or the club?”
“The office. He left me his card,” he says, handing it to me, “when I told him you weren’t there.”
“Thanks, Tony. You say anything else to him?” I know he didn’t, but I have to ask.
“Not a word. One more thing. He asked about Andy, if I had his contact information. I told him no, and then he asked me if he still lived at the Ashford residence during the week.”
“Got it.” I shove the card into my pocket and reach for the door handle of my car. “I’ll take care of it, Tony. Thanks for the heads-up.”
I hit the highway, heading back up to Emery’s house to see if she’s home or if the detective has made his way up there yet. When I reach the house, I park a ways down the long driveway, still concealed by the large hedges that border the property. I stop in my tracks when I see a late-model beige sedan parked up near the entrance of the house. A middle-aged man with a mustache and a fedora walks casually along the driveway, stopping to make notes as he looks up at the house. My guess, he’s noting where he sees cameras. He looks like he’s trying too hard to look like a character out of an episode ofPerry Mason.
I stay out of sight, watching when I see the front door slowly open and Andy steps out onto the front porch. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but a moment later, Andy steps aside and ushers the man into the house.
I pull out my phone and send a text to Emery.
Me:Where are you?
I continue watching the house for several more minutes when my phone alerts with her response.
Emery:At my lawyer’s office. Why?
Me:Come by the club tonight at 8. We need to talk.
She responds, asking me what’s going on, but I don’t reply. Instead, I call my contact at the police station.
“Why are you calling me when I’m at work?” Captain Davis whispers into his phone.
“What the fuck is a detective doing at the Ashford house, Davis?”
“It’s just protocol, Mads. Don’t worry about it.”
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring, Davis. I thought when we last spoke that you said there wouldn’t be an investigation. Are we going to need to reevaluate our deal?”
I don’t have to see his face to know he’s panicking right now. Several years ago, back when he was just a detective himself, Cornelius Davis got himself into a bit of trouble when he drunkenly rear-ended my car, resulting in his passenger, a prostitute he used a lot more than just as an informant, lost her life. He cried like a baby that night, groveling, begging me to protect him and not call the cops. It was like kismet, him landing in my lap on a silver platter. I made his little problem go away in exchange for a working agreement between the two of us.
“What? No, no, everything is fine. I promise, Mr. Bishop. The detective won’t be an issue.”
