The fastest legal extraction method was the only thing left in question.
“Hey, Jim…”
It was Carrie.
“…if you’re stuck, I think I can help you out, but I need your help too. It’s delicate.”
They walked to where the hall opened into the squad room. Carrie tipped her head toward her desk and spoke in a hush.
“See that kid?”
Lynch took a glance.
“Doesn’t look like much of a kid.”
“He’s younger than he looks. How much would you love me if I told you he led the crew that duked it out with the UJ in the junkyard?”
Lynch’s response was a quiet explosion.
“You’re fucking kidding me!”
“No, I’m not…”
Lynch did a little dance and started to say something, but Carrie cut him off.
“…Hang on a second, Jim. Hear me out on this.”
She told Lynch about Tony Evans’s predicament, about the neighborhood watch, and the trouble he would be in if his pastor knew he was in the Industrial Complex that night.
“What are you talking about? I know Pastor Seymour. He’ll be pissed off, but he’s not going to…”
“I know, I know, but you should have heard Evans talk. There was honest fear in his voice. A guy that big…real fear. Bullets probably bounce off of him, and he is scared to death of disappointing his church.”
“But Carrie, for crying out…”
“I just want to know if there’s a way we can do this without getting him into trouble.”
Lynch sized the kid up. He was slumped over in one of the station’s cheaply upholstered, city-purchased armchairs. His elbows were on his knees, and his head was hung low.
“You realize that means we can’t make it public that he was there that night, right?”
“Right.”
Tony wiped his eyes and sniffled.
“Which means we can’t use him as a witness.”
“Give me a little credit, Jim. Yes, I realize that. Look, if we can’t, we can’t. But if we can…you know.”
This was not a typical request from Sergeant Warner. Lynch put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot. He looked back and forth between the interview rooms and the promising young man at Carrie’s desk who only wanted to avoid letting down his pastor.
Yeah, he could make it work.
“Let me talk to him.”
17. One Floor Below the Cloister
The situation wasn’t optimal. There were three of them (plus a girl), and Braden only brought two devices. Two were all he had time to make; two were all he could carry. He also couldn’t bury them like he was supposed to. There wasn’t a lick of soft ground in the entire building. So, he put one at the bottom of each flight of stairs leading to the ground floor. The devices were tucked under the lips of their respective steps. Anyone descending wouldn’t be able to see them. He would have to trigger them remotely. It was the only way he could ensure the timing was precise. If all of them came down together, he’d blow the bottom one when they reached it. If one of them came down without the other two, he’d blow the bottom one first, and then the top one when the others ran to see what was going on.
He wore gloves which he would destroy later. He realized he’d probably get caught. Still, there was no point in being stupid
It all seemed so easy. They were fast asleep when he got there. It allowed him to get a head count, but he couldn’t do what he wanted to while they were lying down. They had to be standing. Better yet, they had to be walking. The girl had passed out on top of her sheets naked and not in the most dignified of positions, so Braden used her cell phone to take a few pictures. The idiot never signed off of any of her social media accounts, so uploading them for the world to see, even while incensed, was easy. Humiliation would be her punishment. As far as his sheltered fifteen-year-old sensibilities knew, she couldn’t have done anything to his mother. She would not be dealt with as harshly as the boys.
So, he sat seething in the shadows. To his left was the switch that he’d placed on the ground. To his right was a clear exit.
18. The Station
Tony would follow his instructions to the letter. All he had to do was sit the hallway and stare down whomever Detective Lynch let out of the interview room. Under no circumstances was he to speak, and if anyone ever asked him what he was doing in the station, he would claim he was reporting a stolen wallet. Lynch would make sure everyone Tony had spoken to, including Boris, would back him up.
It was show time.
19. The Station
“Okay, Rick, you’re free to go.”
Rick slapped both hands on the table to put an audible exclamation point on the end of the sentence that was his tedious morning.
“Alright, well, that’s that then. Thank you, detective.”
“No, thank you, and I’m sorry we hosed a perfectly good Friday morning for you. We’ve got Cardinal Romero in town this weekend. Everyone, and I mean everyone, interviewed in connection with Bishop Ryan’s murder is being interviewed again. You got caught up in it, and we apologize.”
Rick was dubious, but what could he do? They were letting him go.
“I have enough time to get to work by noon. I’m okay.”
He’d taken the day off like he did the day after every painting party. He was looking forward to taking a shower, spending the afternoon watching porn, and catching up with Arthur later on so he could break his nose.
“Your personal effects are behind the front desk. I’ll walk you up. I don’t know why they took your cell phone. You weren’t under arrest.”
Lynch opened the door, and Rick breezed by.
“I did that. We have a security check point at my job. It’s a habit. Wait a minute, how did you know my cell phone was…”
Rick recognized Tony immediately. His face and voice were permanently burned into
