Keller was realizing why this story hadn’t gone anywhere. The AUSA thought Flanagan was full of shit. And why wouldn’t he? Flanagan was desperate, and the story crazy.

“I was just the go-between. I had no idea the man was gonna…”

The prosecutor waved him quiet. “We get it. You were a choirboy.”

“So the contractor—I’ve never met him, just heard of him by rep—he doesn’t talk directly with clients. He told me to get one hundred K and the name and photo.”

“How did you reach him?” Keller asked. “And what do you mean you’d heard of him by rep? What had you heard?”

“If you’re in my line of work, you hear stuff. The contractor, he had a rep as someone who did clean work, specialized in making things look like an accident.”

“Did he have a name?”

“No, people just called him the Lip.”

Keller felt goose bumps crawl up her arms. She thought of Maggie’s photo of the man with the cleft lip scar.

“The caller drops the money, plus my cut, at a locker in the statehouse. And I take the cash and envelope to another drop for the Lip.”

“Why not just wire funds or send encrypted files?”

“Because that’s not how he wanted to do it,” Flanagan said, as if it were the dumbest question he’d ever heard. Keller presumed that cash, paper, was the only way to ensure no digital footprints. The hit man was old-school.

“But, you know, I’m a curious type,” Flanagan said.

Keller understood. The weasel not only hid to see who dropped off the envelope at the statehouse, he looked inside. No honor among thieves. “Who was the mark?”

“That guy on the news. From the TV show. Evan Pine.”

“Who hired the Lip?” Keller said, tired of Flanagan holding her in suspense.

The lawyer put a hand on her client’s arm, stopping him from responding. “He gets time served,” she said to the AUSA.

Flanagan offered a greasy smile that Keller wanted to smash in with her fist. The prosecutor looked at Keller. He must’ve been able to tell from her demeanor that Flanagan had said something that resonated. The Lip. It corroborated his story, connecting the man with the cleft lip scar Maggie had photographed. It wasn’t a coincidence. Flanagan was telling the truth.

“Make the deal,” Keller said.

“This is above my pay grade,” the prosecutor said. “I’ll be back.” He stepped out of the conference room.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, he looked at Flanagan’s lawyer and nodded.

The lawyer looked at her disgusting client and said, “Tell her.”

CHAPTER 61

EVAN PINE

BEFORE

“I’m tired, Daddy,” Tommy said.