Mike Freeman pulled to a stop behind the row of police cars lining the top of the bluff. He spotted his friend on the force and wandered over.
“Where is he?”
“Down there.”
Down there was the base of the cliff where the body had been discovered floating in the bay. No one much wanted to climb down, and the cops were all standing around waiting for the gurney to be hoisted up by the crane on the wrecker ordered by the emergency rescue team. Not that there was any rescuing to be done. The man was way past help. The body was merely being retrieved for the cops.
Mike walked up to the edge of the cliff, looked over, and saw the gurney bumping up the side of the canyon wall far below. He felt slightly queasy, and backed away from the edge.
The cop grinned at him. “Join the club. No one wants to supervise the hoist. We all decided we could damn well wait.”
The gurney cleared the edge of the cliff. The crane swung it over and set it down.
Homicide detectives were waiting to pounce. They were beaten out by the doctor, who somehow managed to insert himself next to the gurney and look just as if he’d ridden up with it. Mike figured that was probably for the benefit of the TV cameras.
Mike squeezed in as close as he could. He wanted to see for himself if it was really Carlo Gigante. It certainly figured to be. His goons had been found dead next to his car in the Palm Palace parking lot. They were unlikely to have been killed for their own sake. Their boss’s corpse could not be far behind.
“That looks like him from his picture,” Mike said. “Is it him?”
The cop looked. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Thanks.”
Mike whipped out his cell phone and called Stone Barrington.
—
TEDDY RELAYED the information to Holly Barker.
“He took out Carlo Gigante?” Holly said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Either he thought Carlo could lead us to him, or he’s just plain mean.”
“Do you think Gigante knew his address?”
“No.”
“So the odds favor just plain mean.”
“That’s the interesting thing about the West Coast connection. He, of all people, is the most likely card-carrying terrorist.”
“Why do you say that?” Holly said.
“He has links to extremists. When they needed a hit man on short notice, he had no problem coming up with an ISIS recruit, the student from UCLA.”
“He also hired Gigante.”
“He’s open-minded. He doesn’t discriminate. The point is he has the connections. Our East Coast kidnapper only seems to hire American thugs.”
“Except for the shooter.”
“He’s the exception that proves the rule. But he kind of has to be. If you want an assassin, you need to train your own sniper.”
“Unless he’s an embittered Iraq War vet with post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Teddy shrugged. “That would fit in with the veterans aid bill. But we’ve pretty well established that the shooter is the man in the surveillance footage.”
Holly exhaled. “We keep going around in circles.”
“Yes, but we’re picking up stuff on every turn. And we’re throwing monkey wrenches into their machinery. We may be frustrated by our progress, but I doubt if these guys are very happy with how things are going either.”