this asshole, the less I like him.” Ronan’s frown deepened as he continued to scroll through Marc Waller’s criminal record. He’d called in a favor to Faulkner Hayes, the new Cold Case Captain, to get Waller’s rap sheet. “Do you think your client knows this fucker went to prison for embezzlement?”
“Women are always the last to know,” Fitzgibbon chimed in from the back. At six feet seven inches, Kevin was folded into the backseat like a pretzel.
“I’m going to leave that one alone,” Jude snickered. Both Ronan and Fitzgibbon were the fathers of daughters. One wrong word and he could find himself stuck in Peabody with no ride home.
After Jude dropped Cope off at home, he’d texted Ronan and Kevin to ask if they were up for a stakeout. Jude wanted to know what the hell was up with Marc Waller. The man hadn’t been hard to find. He had been sitting at table in a dingy Keno bar just over the Salem/Peabody line. The only time he’d moved in the last two hours was to signal for another drink. So far, he’d had four, on top of only God knew how many before they’d arrived.
“Peg’s working her ass off and this fool spends his days in a shithole bar?” Ronan practically spat the words.
“Slimeballs like this fucker are always looking to get rich quick. What better way than to play the lottery?” In Keno, the gambler picked twenty numbers from a selection of one to eighty. After the bets were placed, the numbers were drawn Bingo-style. So far as Jude could tell, it didn’t look like Marc had won any bets.
“Hey, look, he’s on the move.” Fitzgibbon shifted forward in his seat, sending his knees crashing into the back of Ronan’s seat.
“Christ, Kevin! You want to warn me the next time you have a muscle spasm?” Ronan laughed.
“Why the fuck couldn’t we take Jude’s car? That thing is a boat, with room for a three-course buffet in the backseat.”
Jude couldn’t argue with Kevin’s logic, his Thunderbird was much bigger than Ronan’s Mustang. “Waller saw my car when Cope and I went out to the house last week. He’d spot it a mile away.”
“Maybe not.” Kevin snorted. He pointed toward the front of the bar where there was a bit of a ruckus.
Marc was not walking out of the bar under his own power. A large, beefy man was dragging him by the elbow. With a flick of his wrist, Marc landed on the ground. “Nice job, Tiny.” Jude laughed.
Ronan snorted. “We’re going to want to speak to him. Bouncer, bartender, whoever he is.”
Kevin’s camera clicked from the backseat. “Got him.”
Jude was more worried about the man getting behind the wheel of his car. “Christ, should we call 911 or try to stop this prick from driving?” Jude had Cisco Jackson, Salem’s Chief of Police, on speed-dial. Unfortunately, they were one town over in Peabody.
“That’s not going to be a problem. Shit-box Honda at two o’clock.” Ronan pointed to the right where a dented, gold Honda Civic, missing a hubcap, was heading toward Marc, who’d just managed to pick himself up off the ground.
“I’m running the plate now.” By running, Jude meant he’d just texted the number to Faulk.
“The driver is a woman and Marc is kissing her like there’s a pot of gold down her throat.” Kevin’s words were punctuated by clicks of the camera shutter.
Ronan dry-heaved from the front seat.
“Miranda West,” Jude said. “She lives a mile away in a trailer park. Has priors for solicitation and possession.” If nothing else, Jude would be able to show Peg proof that Marc was cheating on her. He pulled up a browser on his phone and started to dig.
“She’s on the move.” Ronan slipped his aviator sunglasses on and started the car.
“Christ, they went to Beverly High School together. Class of 2008. Voted most likely to be the next Bonnie and Clyde.” Jude snorted.
“What? When I was high school people were voted Most Likely to Succeed or Most Likely to Cure Cancer. What the hell kind of a superlative is that?” Kevin sounded truly outraged.
“A true one,” Ronan snapped back. “Don’t forget, you went to high school when dinosaurs roamed the earth. A lot has changed since the 1950s.”
“Fuck you, Ronan! I graduated in 1986.” Kevin thumped into the back of Ronan’s seat again, sending him crashing against the steering wheel.
“You and Debbie Gibson.” Ronan started singing Foolish Beat with an impossibly high falsetto.
“Okay, you two. Eyes on the prize.”