“Anything else to tell me?” he asked before she could disconnect.

“Like what?”

“Like anything else?”

Ethel smiled to herself. His curiosity was the price she had to pay for calling him so late. “No progress on who attacked Jesse Cooper, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean we all know you’re not sitting on the sidelines. I want to make sure we’re on the same team.”

“We’re on the same team, Cory, but even a team has players with specialty skills.”

“And yours would be?”

“Being underestimated on the one hand and being a pain in the ass on the other.”

Bradshaw broke out with an unrestrained laugh. “Well, I don’t underestimate you. I guess that’s why I’m stuck with your second attribute. All I ask is if you find one of my guys is dirty, you give me a heads-up. I don’t want to be blindsided.”

“All right. You know I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but if I find someone in the service is clearly dirty, I’ll come to you first. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough. Good night, Ethel.” He rang off.

Ethel held on to the cell phone and called up her video app. She replayed her recording of the crime scene of Finch’s murder. The light was low and the footage grainy, but she watched as the camera moved across the body lying faceup, over the Beretta, and around the SUV’s damaged grille that had led them to the shattered parking deck bar. The camera continued to the second rear passenger door with the glass shards visible on the pavement outside the door and the red stain of smeared blood on the inside.

She froze the image and whispered to herself. “It will come down to the blood.”

***

Trevor Norwood was asleep in his recliner when the buzz of his phone woke him. At first he was disoriented, thinking his alarm had sounded. He’d set it to allow time to apply a thinner bandage and freshen up before going out of the apartment to meet Director Bradshaw. If he could survive the director’s questions, he would be home free.

But the buzzes had been two text messages sent almost simultaneously. The first one—

we need to meet before Bradshaw usual place

The second text—

RIP 3 Handoff bag

He looked at the current time. A few minutes after one in the morning. He’d told them that someone had raided one of the wallets. So, whatever was shaking, it must be important that he be briefed before his meeting. And he understood he was being summoned to take charge of the remaining money. RIP threw him for a second, then he connected it to “usual place.” Roosevelt Island Park off the George Washington Memorial Parkway. He pulled himself out of the chair and got his jacket and keys. “There’d better be a damn good reason,” he muttered.

Chapter 25