Will Graham is dragged back into the force by the firm hand of Jack Crawford.
While The Dragon hunts in the shadows, waiting for the next moon.
Hannibal Lecter abides patiently within the walls of his cell to begin the games once more with the cro...
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Will stared at Byron sternly, shaking his head at the offered glass of Whiskey. It was a good brand too. But he never drank on duty, and he certainly wouldn't start now.
"You sure?"
"No," sighed Will. "I don't drink."
This was a lie. But Metcalf had no way of knowing.
"I didn't know them very well," grumbled Byron, taking a large gulp at his glass. "The Jacobis, I mean. They'd only been here three months. Recently moved down here I believe, after Mr. Jacobi was transferred. My wife and I were there for drinks a couple of times. Ed came to me for a new will. It's how I met him."
Will frowned, his brows furrowed.
"But you're his executor."
"Yes, yes. But his wife was first listed. Odd decision if you ask me, it's better to leave it to a firm. But he changed it, and came to me, as an alternate if she were deceased or unavailable. He has a brother, in Philadelphia, I think... but I gather they weren't close."
"You were an assistant district attorney."
"Yes," Metcalf shrugged. "That was a while back now."
"What do you think happened here, Mr. Metcalf? Was there anyone that hung around them, anyone—"
"No. I've already told your lot this. No. The first thing I thought about was Joseph Yablonski, the labour leader?"
Will's fingers twitched, pen tapping against the side of the paper. A bewildered feeling swelled through his chest.
"Yes?"
"A crime with a motive," nodded Metcalf. "Power in that case, disguised as an insane attack. We went over Ed's papers. Estridge from the DA's office and I. Nothing. Nobody stood to make much money off Ed Jacobi's death. He made a big salary, for sure, and he had some people paying off, but he spent it almost as fast as it came in. Everything was to go to the wife, with a little land in California entailed to the kids and their descendants. He had a small spendthrift trust set up for the surviving son. If he doesn't inherit the lot, they're still overlooking that. It'll pay his way through three more years of college. I'm sure he'll still be a freshman by then—"
"Niles Jacobi."
"Yeah," groaned Metcalf, tipping his head back as he finished the rest of his drink. "The kid gave Ed a big pain in the ass. He lived with his mother in California. Went to Chino for theft. I gather his mother's a flake. Ed went out there to see about him last year. Brought him straight back to Birmingham and put him in school at Bardwell Community College. Tried to keep him at home, but he dumped on the other kids and made it unpleasant for everybody. Mrs. Jacobi put up with it for a while, but finally they moved him to a dorm."
Will scowled, the incessant need to scribble; terrible parent, and dead-beat dad, across the paper was solely tempting.
