Gone Too Far (Devlin & Falco #2) - Debra Webb Page 0,48

the clerkship and his taking the DDA position to change his mind about joining his father’s law practice? Why would the hierarchy of power within the drug trade in Birmingham, Alabama, have any bearing on Asher Walsh’s future? It makes no sense.”

“First off, parents have killed their offspring for less,” Falco pointed out.

Kerri made a face. “I’m not suggesting the father killed Walsh,” she clarified. “I’m wondering how far the son would go to prove something to his father. You know”—she shrugged—“the in-your-face-dad scenario. Maybe Birmingham was the city he chose to do it because his aunt and fond childhood memories were here. He was no doubt aware how much his father despised the aunt and all things south—according to the aunt.”

“Maybe in trying to prove whatever he intended to prove”—Falco picked up the theory from there—“the son got in too deep and got himself killed.”

“Exactly.” Kerri pushed back her chair and stood. “Maybe there’s no big mystery here. Could be nothing more than a gone-too-far situation.”

Falco nodded slowly. “You may be onto something, Devlin.”

She grinned, feeling light for the first time since the call from the school. “I think I might be. I’ll get the next round.”

Kerri headed for the kitchen. There was nothing like feeling the weight of being a failed parent to make you see the possibility in others.

She shook off the idea. In any event, the parents had to be ruled out just like anyone else close to the vic.

Had nothing to do with her own failings.

At least that was what she told herself.

13

8:00 p.m.

Leo’s Tobacconist

Oak Grove Road

Homewood

Sadie watched the small haughty crowd gathered around the bar. Mostly old white dudes. Their elegant clothes and fine leather shoes said plenty. Money. Lots of money. The privileged of Birmingham.

She sipped her bourbon on the rocks, ignoring the urge to down it and to order another. Keeping her shit together was important. It was the least she could do for Asher. In addition to finding that local power link to the cartel, he’d wanted to help her. This he had told her over and over. Eventually she would determine his actual motive. Not that she didn’t believe he’d wanted to help her, but she’d learned the hardest way of all that even people who cared about you had a motive for every action. They might not be aware themselves of the underlying incentive, but it was there.

Human nature. Survival and all that bullshit.

Tara McGill had motive for what she had done too. With her, it was easy to figure out. She was the proverbial gold digger. Money was her goal. She didn’t have enough. She wanted more. But McGill wasn’t clever enough to be working directly for the cartel. If she was involved at all, someone would be feeding her orders, orchestrating her every move. McGill was the source Kurtz and Asher had suspected. Kurtz had discovered her little entrepreneurial endeavor. He’d been watching her for a couple of weeks when Asher approached him. Sadie’s sources had pinpointed the shop as being a link in the distribution chain. McGill wasn’t quite as discreet as she should have been. A mistake that would cost her big-time—whether from the good guys or the bad.

Kurtz had agreed with Asher’s conclusion that if someone in his employment was working for the cartel, there could be other small business owners suffering the same treachery. Small businesses like his would be overlooked in the grand scheme of things when it came to law enforcement investigations. Too insignificant. Unless a significant number of insignificant establishments were pulled unknowingly into the game. Simple math. Little veins were far easier to hide than big bulging arteries.

Sadie’s guess was that McGill had provided the information and access needed by whoever had offed Kurtz and Asher. Under the circumstances she likely considered herself innocent of the crime, but she was wrong. She was just as damned guilty as the shooter.

Another sip of bourbon slid down Sadie’s throat as she watched McGill flit about, crooning over one customer and then another. Ensuring she touched each one on the arm or shoulder, sometimes the back. Dressed in a skintight black dress barely long enough to cover her ass, with a scooped neck that revealed lots of cleavage, along with black stockings and sexy black heels. The old bastards probably got hard-ons just watching her.

Sadie looked away. What she needed was the shot caller in whatever the hell went down. Her gaze shifted back to the group gathered in memory of the