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‘That everything?’
Russo shrugged. ‘I’m dry. That’s everything. I swear it.’
‘Alright,’ Ella said as she checked the time. It was getting into the afternoon, and she needed to head home and get ready. She had a big, if somewhat bizarre evening ahead. 'It's appreciated. We're only allowed thirty minutes in here, so I'll come back in a few days to help you with your… financial issue.'
‘Promise?’
‘Promise,’ Ella said. She understood the importance of family, even to someone like Russo. She would ensure his hidden money reached his wife and daughter, a small act of restitution for the lives Russo had impacted through his criminal activities.
As Ella left the interview room, the complexities of the case had a stranglehold on her thoughts. Logan Nash's death remained an enigma, a puzzle with pieces that didn't quite fit. The Red Diamonds’ intention to aid Nash in escaping prison contradicted her assassination theory, but Nash's death by a bullet rather than cyanide further complicated things further.
She needed to delve deeper, explore every angle. Moreover, she had to re-examine the crime scene details and Nash's connections. Perhaps there was someone in Nash's past, a forgotten enemy or a shadowed figure, capable of such a bold assassination.
As she exited the prison, she found herself asking the number one question: who, other than herself, had the capabilities to assassinate the assassin?
CHAPTER TWO
Until now, Ella had been of the mistaken belief that no situation could faze her anymore. She’d battled America’s most wanted, suffered every injury in the book, seen more dead bodies than an undertaker.
But in this restaurant, she finally felt out of her element.
Beneath the low lights, enclosed by walls of jazz music, she sat beside her boyfriend, Ben. He'd donned his best shirt and jeans for the occasion – the only ones in his closet not faded. On the other side of the table sat Mia Ripley – Ella's FBI partner and multi-time lifesaver – alongside the new soul in Ripley’s life. His name was Martin, although Ripley had neglected to share his surname. Ella guessed he was late-fifties or early sixties, with neat silver hair and a sharp grey beard that framed his jaw. He had a charm about him, and more importantly, Ripley seemed rejuvenated by his company.
‘All I’m saying is that it’s different now,’ Martin said as he stabbed the red meat on his plate. ‘Steely Dan wouldn’t even stand out today.’
‘True,’ Ben said. He swished his Diet Coke. ‘Talent is cheaper than salt, but most musicians these days don’t have the insight to make banging songs. Just having the chops isn’t enough.’
Martin wagged his finger in Ben’s direction. ‘Bingo. It doesn’t matter how well you play guitar if you can’t put a song together.’
Ella wasn't sure how they'd gotten onto music, but she was happy to veer into any subject that took her mind off Logan Nash and his exquisite corpse. Ben finished his drink and said, 'I'm gonna get another Coke, anyone want anything?’
A chorus of noes followed. Ripley eyed him and said, ‘You don’t touch booze at all?’
‘It’s not for me,’ Ben said. ‘I like to stay alert.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ Ripley said. Ben disappeared towards the bar, momentarily changing the dynamic at the table. Ella took another stab at her dinner now that she’d digested her steak. She’d foolishly ordered a mixed grill, and her plate had arrived with more meat than a butcher's shop. As much as she loved protein, you could only eat so much meat in one sitting.
‘Dark,’ Ripley said, ‘did you get the memo?’
Ella paused, her fork hovering over her plate. ‘Got? Yes. Read? Not sure.’
‘Check the one we got Friday night. It’s about Edis.’
William Edis was the FBI director. The man at the top of the pile. It was Edis who’d noticed Ella’s passion for justice, plucked her from a job in Intelligence and sent her out into the field alongside legendary agent Mia Ripley. When it came down to it, she owed Edis everything.
‘Edis? What’s happened to him?’
‘Gone,’ Ripley said firmly. ‘Exiled.’
The information hit Ella like a cold wave. ‘What? You’re kidding?’ Seven years she'd been at the FBI, and she'd never known the place without him.
‘It’s political. Seems like there's been some backdoor maneuvering.’
‘So he’s just been kicked out?’
‘Looks like it. There was talk of him not playing ball with certain people. Politicians, governors, the Attorney General.’
Martin chimed in, ‘I doubt he’ll lose much sleep over it. He must have ten million in the bank.’
