80

Comm unwrapped the Sausage McMuffin. Scarfed it down, drained his coffee, and polished off the hash browns. Then he looked across the table at Stevens and Windermere. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

He was clear-eyed this morning. He seemed to have slept. There were shadows under his eyes, and he smelled like diesel fuel, sweat, and a night in a holding cell, but he held Stevens’s gaze and set his jaw and sat at the table, lucid and ready to talk.

“Killswitch,” said Windermere. “How did you find him?”

Comm looked around the interview room. Exhaled. “First things first. I don’t want this bastard coming back for me.”

Windermere nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m no snitch. I’m no rat. I’m just—” He looked at Stevens. “You had to see this guy, man.”

“You’re safe,” Stevens told him. “We’re here to protect you.”

“My mother, too. She’s the only family I have. I want someone watching her until you guys catch this psycho. Understood?”

“He’s not coming for your mother,” said Windermere.

“How do you know?”

“He’s a contract killer,” said Stevens. “He probably wasn’t coming back for you, even if he did make the connection. You paid him. The contract was done.”

Comm shook his head. “My mother gets protection or I’m not talking.”

Windermere swapped a glance with Stevens. “Fine,” she said, sighing. “What’s the address?”

Comm recited the address. Windermere wrote it down. Ducked out of the room and handed it to Ojeda. Comm watched her. When she was back inside the room, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You guys have a computer?”

OJEDA BROUGHT IN A LAPTOP. Logged in to the CID wireless signal and opened an Internet window. Then he turned the computer toward Comm.

Comm typed in a Web address. “Killswitch-dot-com,” he said. “Easy.”

It was a generic-looking website. A stock image at the top, a soldier with a rifle. A couple of articles beneath, a long row of links. It didn’t look like much more than a collection of news clippings, all of them related to guns. There wasn’t anything to suggest it was a front for a hired killer. Windermere frowned. “This is how you found him?”

Comm nodded. “Looks pretty simple, right? It’s not, though.” He clicked on a link that said CONTACT and a pop-up form appeared. There were entry fields for name, e-mail address, questions. There was a drop-down menu. Comm clicked on it and scrolled.

“Contracting,” he said. “That’s what you select. And you have to be pretty damn crafty with your request. There’s a code.”

“A code,” said Windermere. “How the hell do you know the code?”

Comm laughed at her. “Same way I know about Killswitch,” he said. “It’s not hard, if you know what to look for.”

“And what do you look for?” said Stevens.

“People.” Comm shook his head. “You look for people. Listen, I’m not exactly a choirboy. You saw the cocaine. I know people who have bad connections. Maybe I told my dealer I was looking to put out a hit. Maybe my dealer gave me Killswitch.”

“Your dealer,” said Windermere. “Who is he?”

“Nice try. I told you I’m no snitch.”

“You’re giving us Killswitch.”

“I’m trying,” said Comm. “You guys keep asking questions. Who my dealer is doesn’t matter. Killswitch is out there. People just know about it.”

Stevens cleared his throat. “So you typed in the code. You asked for contracting help. Then this guy got in touch and asked who you wanted killed?”

Comm shook his head. “It’s not like that. First the guy has to vet you. Make sure you’re clean.”

“How?”

“The hell if I know. Wasn’t like he came to my house.” Comm picked up his empty cup of coffee. Glanced inside, and set it back down. “Not that I know of. Anyway, I guess he liked what he saw, because a week after I got in touch, he invited me in.”

“Invited you where?” said Windermere.

Comm smiled to himself. Punched in another URL. “Killswitch-dot-com,” he said, “slash special projects.” He pressed ENTER and a gray page loaded up. There was a user name field and a password prompt. The rest of the page was blank.

“Special projects,” said Stevens. “The murders.”

Comm grinned wider. “Exactly.”

Windermere glanced at Stevens. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked Comm. “Get us in.”