Page 77 of The Fourth Option
“Never mind. Maybe he spooked or maybe he’s on probation, doesn’t want to get caught up in some shit. Who the fuck knows.”
“How you want to handle this?” Gormley asked.
Bates spotted the vintage Tudor dive watch on Leigh Ann’s wrist. He remembered when it was on Connor’s.
“Did anyone else come up here?”
“Just Detective Kile, but he took a quick glance and told me to secure it.”
Bates knelt down, removed the watch, and slid it into his pocket, noting how loose it was on her wrist. It had been sized for a man.
“She must have a jewelry box in here. Take everything shiny.”
“That the story, Lieutenant?” Gormley asked. “Robbery?”
“Connor Staub lived here. He OD’d, so we have a direct drug tie, but maybe he was also dealing to kids in the Garden. This could be a hit from a rival in the Ninth, looking for Connor’s stash. They tied up poor old Mama Staub and asked where she hid her valuables. When she didn’t deliver, they tortured her and killed her either on purpose or by accident. In the middle of all that there’s an argument or somebody on the crew gets greedy. He turns on the others, takes the jewelry, splits it with the getaway driver. I’d buy that. We’ve seen shit like this before.”
“That works. But what about her dinner date?” Gormley asked.
Bates thought for a moment.
“That guy could be a problem.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Find him. Then eliminate the problem.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WALKER TWISTED HISshirtless torso so that Belle could better see the wound on his upper back.
“You are going to need stitches,” she said.
“No stitches. Just pour some peroxide in, cover it with gauze, and tape it up. If we need to, you can squeeze in some superglue. I wouldn’t have called you if I could reach it myself.”
They were in Walker’s van parked at a new location along the river, sitting on the bench seat in the back. Paladin watched them from the passenger chair.
Walker grunted as Belle poured the peroxide into the wound.
“Oh, don’t be a baby.”
“You are supposed to warn me first.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve never picked glass out of someone’s back before.”
She was dressed in her uniform: Doc Martens, dark jeans, and black tank top.
“I think there might still be some shards in there,” Walker said.
“I’ll get them,” she said, blowing a strand of raven-black hair away from her eyes.
Belle set the bottle down on the swing-out table and picked up the tweezers. She adjusted the headlamp Walker had given her and pulled the wound apart with her left fingers, probing for glass shards.
“Take your time,” Walker said with a hint of sarcasm, focusing on the ticking of an old clock by the bookshelf.
“Fuck you, I’m doing my best.”
“I’m just kidding, but really, try to get them all.”
