The Last Straw (The Jigsaw Files #4) - Sharon Sala Page 0,79
just so tragic. I keep praying she’ll pull through,” Lou said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course,” Floyd said and ended the call.
“He didn’t come across as guarded or evasive,” Mills said.
Floyd nodded. “Okay, let’s see what Sonny Burch has to say for himself.” He made the call, waited for it to start ringing and within seconds it went to voice mail.
“Yes, Mr. Burch. This is Detective Floyd of the Dallas PD. Please call me at this number at your earliest convenience.” And then he hung up.
“Voice mail?” Mills asked.
Floyd nodded. “He has it turned off because it went directly to voice mail. I’m calling his office,” he said and made that call next.
Within seconds a perky little voice was on the line.
“Mid-Texas Leasing, Chelsea speaking.”
“Good morning, Chelsea. This is Detective Floyd of the Dallas PD. I need to speak to Sonny Burch.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Sonny’s not here. Would you like to speak to Darryl? He’s the manager.”
“Yes, please,” Floyd said and waited to be transferred. A few moments later a man answered.
“This is Darryl.”
“Darryl, this is Detective Floyd with Dallas PD. I’m trying to get in touch with your boss.”
“Oh, he’s not here. He called in yesterday and told me he was going to be gone for a while. I have his cell number.”
“Was this a planned trip?” Floyd asked.
“No, sir. A bit unexpected, but that’s Sonny. Do you want his number?”
“Sure,” Floyd said, curious to know if it was the same number they’d already been given, and it was.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Darryl asked.
“If he calls in, have him call this number,” Floyd said. “Ask for Detective Floyd.”
“Yes, sir, I sure will,” and the call ended.
Floyd looked at his partner.
Mills shrugged. “I think someone’s on the run.”
“I think you might be right,” Floyd said. “We need to get back to the station and get a search warrant for J.J. Burch’s apartment, then let Wyrick loose in there. She offered, and I’m not going to turn that woman down.”
* * *
This was their stay-at-home day, and Charlie was giving Wyrick all the space she needed, but after a few hours of quiet, he wanted to know what she was up to, and headed to the office where Wyrick was working. After all the years they’d spent working together, he was still amazed at how fast her fingers moved across a keyboard, and how fast her thoughts were churning to be able to do that.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking at him.
“No, I’m not. I just came to see if you were getting hungry.”
“Not particularly,” she said and kept typing, and Charlie was still there.
He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“I’m not cooking,” she said and pulled up a new screen to implement another search.
He laughed.
“Are you cooking?” Wyrick asked.
“No. I’m doing DoorDash. I’ll pick it up at the gate. They won’t be on the property, okay?”
“I might be getting hungry. What are you ordering?” Wyrick asked.
“I think Chinese,” Charlie said.
She paused and looked up.
“Ooh, good call. I’ll have spring rolls, sesame chicken stir-fry and dumplings. I love pork dumplings.”
“You got it,” Charlie said. “I’ll let you know when it’s on the table.”
“Don’t forget condiments. I will need orange sauce and hot mustard,” Wyrick said.
“Anything else?” Charlie asked.
“Fried rice. What are you having?” she asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “You mean all of that is yours?”
She glared. “You know I like leftovers, and I know you’re going to order Mongolian beef something and a gallon of shrimp fried rice. Meanwhile, I have my last hit man identified. I’ll tell you about it over lunch.”
As she turned back to the computer, there was a moment when the graceful curve of the back of her head and her long, bare neck struck him as so beautiful. And then he thought, how odd that this woman knew everything about him, and he still didn’t understand a fraction of who she was.
He walked out of the office as Wyrick was rereading the email she’d received from Mildred Pete, a fourth grade teacher in Paulette, Louisiana. According to Mildred, Farrell Kitt’s own son gave him up without knowing it, by an innocent comment on the playground, and when Mildred confronted Farrell, he finally admitted it.
Wyrick nodded in satisfaction. It was the verification she needed to finger Kitt as the last hit man. His phone number was also the last number she’d pulled from the preacher’s phone records. Just to make sure Kitt wasn’t still bent on coming after