a woman with an East Coast accent, who made them an offer they couldn’t pass up. The deal was struck, and two weeks later they were on a bus to Trenton, New Jersey, and a career change.
The woman’s voice was the only contact with the organization she just called “The Company.” It was a simple setup. She gave them their missions, they carried out the orders, and the payment was deposited into their ever-growing bank accounts.
Until now work had been plentiful, monetarily rewarding, and simple. Until Book screwed up, that is. Book had done some messed-up stuff in Afghanistan, too, but that was war. He knew what was wrong with Book. His mind was still stuck in haji land.
Clint slumped in the seat, sulking. He knew that going back meant more work for the same amount of money. They were paid by the job, not by the hour. Every day they spent in Evansville would come out of their own pockets, and he had just bought a lakefront cabin and a new bass boat. He sure as hell couldn’t afford to lose money.
“We may not be in Evansville more than a day,” Book said. “Let’s head back to Terre Haute.”
“What’s the job?” Clint asked, and Book laid it out for him. As Clint listened, the simplicity of the plan made him smile.
CHAPTER NINE
Jack waited for Liddell to shoehorn himself into the passenger side and push the seat all the way back so his knees weren’t shoved against the dashboard.
“Put your seat belt on,” Jack said.
“Yes, Mother.”
“And call dispatch on your cell. I don’t want any reporters to come around.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Jack accelerated out of the parking lot of the morgue, and then slid around the corner at Garvin Street directly in front of a car driven by an elderly gentleman. Liddell pulled his seat belt tighter as the other car came alongside them, blasting its horn, the old man inside giving them the bird.
“Slow down, pod’na! Are we going to a fire?”
“We’ve got a lead. Murphy’s Law says, ‘You snooze, you lose,’” Jack said.
“We have to get there first,” Liddell said, gripping the dashboard.
Nina Parsons’s house was located in the gated community of Eden Village, a subdivision of newer garden homes built in the seventies and now occupied by senior citizens. Hers was a single-story wood-sided home, painted old-fashioned slate blue with dark blue trim, faux-wood vinyl shutters, and a front porch complete with wicker furniture. A single-car garage was attached on the left. Crime-scene SUVs bracketed the driveway of 118 Village Lane, and Jack stopped behind the nearest one to survey the neighborhood.
The lots had just enough room to run a lawn mower between the houses. Across the street an elderly woman was reading a book on her porch, pretending not to notice the police cars.
Sergeant Walker stood on the porch as the two detectives joined him. Walker handed them paper booties and latex gloves. As they put them on, Jack said, “Eric said she lived by herself.”
Jack put his face close to the front window and peered through a crack in the curtains, where he could see into the living room and down a hallway that led to a kitchen and one or two bedrooms. Nothing looked out of place.
“We just got here,” Walker said. “No sign of forced entry, Jack. We checked the back and we’re setting up a perimeter.” Walker nodded to one of the techs, and she hurried off with a roll of yellow and black tape.
Jack said, “Eric Manson said he came by earlier. He showed up at the morgue and identified the victim as Nina Parsons.”
When the name registered, Walker said, “Nina Parsons? You mean the deputy prosecutor?”
“You know her?”
Walker said he did. He had testified in a couple of the cases she’d prosecuted.
“Eric said she didn’t show up to do pre-charges with another employee and he came to check on her welfare.” How could I forget to ask Eric how he knew Nina hadn’t come to work today? Or ask if he had a key to her house?
“Did he go inside her house?” Walker asked.
“He said he did a walk-through,” Jack said. “To tell the truth, I didn’t ask him a lot of the questions that I should have. He was with the chief.”
Liddell interjected, “Jack has a lot on his mind. Eric and Jack’s ex are—”
“Drop it, Bigfoot.” To Walker, Jack asked, “What do you need, Tony? Do we need to bring Eric out here?”
“It would be nice to know what he