Page 71 of Witness 8

His mind put together everything that had happened.

Right before the shot, Harry Ford had stood in front of Flynn. The force of the bullet hitting Ford had thrown him back, and he’d tumbled into Flynn, the kinetic force knocking them both to the ground like bowling pins. Flynn was on his knees, beside Ford.

Lake was trying to staunch the bleeding.

Bloch must’ve made the same calculations as Mr. Christmas. She’d spotted the open window – made the connection. The angle, the origin of the gunshot, the firing position from beneath the sun.

She drew a Magnum and began unloading. The half pane of glass above the opening in the window disintegrated. Dust and brick exploded around the frame as Bloch fired, reloaded and fired again.

Mr. Christmas ducked back into the alley.

Stepped over the creek of blood on the floor from the dead workman, and began to run down the dark alley.

Angel had interrupted his plans. The ex-sniper would need to be dealt with before he could go after Flynn.

He could not kill the lawyer without knowing more. The former FBI agent Gabriel Lake was now working with Flynn and that changed everything.

How did he know Flynn?

And, more importantly, what did Flynn know about Lake?

Did he know the truth?

PART THREE

29

Eddie

Clarence lay down on the grass, rested his head on his front legs, sighed and stared at the tombstone in front of him.

He stayed like that for a while. Unmoving.

Leaving me to my quiet thoughts.

I put my hand on the cold marble stone.

I made my silent promise and then stood for a while.

The graveyard was quiet this time of the morning. The only sound was the distant thrum of ride-on mowers cutting the grass.

‘Come on, Clarence,’ I said.

He got up and we walked back to my car. I opened the passenger seat of the Mustang and Clarence leapt in without a word from me. I closed the door, got into the driver’s seat and buzzed the windows down about a foot. Normally, Clarence would stick his head out, let his tongue flap in the wind as we drove.

Not this time. Not for a while now.

Clarence curled up in the passenger seat and whimpered. I put my hand on him, stroked him a few times, said, ‘I know, pal. I miss him too.’

The ride into the city took forty-five minutes. Clarence didn’t move for the entire journey. I kept a hand on him when I could. I wanted him to know that I was there for him.

I left the Mustang in a lot on 99thStreet, between Park and Madison, and walked Clarence across the street to Mount Sinai. We took the elevator to a special ward of the ICU. Dogs are not allowed into hospitals, but I dropped a couple of hundred bucks on the right desks in city hall, in front of the right people, and got a special license. Clarence was now officially a therapy animal and could get into more buildings in the city than I could.

Kickbacks and greenbacks.

I opened the door to the private room, unhooked Clarence’s leash and he hopped up onto the bed and sat at Harry’s feet.

It was the only time Clarence was at peace.