Three Libras - BLACKBIRD book 4

12. leak

All of them spun on their heels to face Hank.

He walked in with a triumphant smile. "Guess I got your attention."

Brock almost thanked Ron when he said, "And five seconds to explain yourself."

Hank smiled wider and nodded at the reports in Russell's hands. "It's all there. The angle is the key to the stabs we thought were made by a left hand."

"What we thought?" repeated Russell.

Hank signaled Aldana to come closer and winked at Russell. "If you allow me."

"Hey, I'm not his property, you know?" she protested.

"My bad, Agent Miles. Now come stand in front of me." He looked at the other three. "Now I'm the dominant and I'm right-handed, okay?" He produced a pen. "This is my big bad knife and I'm gonna stab Al. Like this." He faked to stab her with his pen.

Brock made a mental note to run over Gillian with his car at the first chance he got. And then hit the gas in reverse. Schwartz had arrived after he and Russell discussed the roles of the dominant and the submissive. Meaning Gillian had stopped by the Coroner's, and talked about team dynamics with the biochemist. So this theory was actually hers. Which came to prove she was still poking into his case, against his explicit orders. He felt a cramp. Because if it'd been Gillian who'd figured it out, she was most likely right and he didn't need to check it himself. And that thought made him consider a Panzer instead of his car.

"Got it, Jack, nice ripping" said Ron, folding his arms. "Now how come half the stabs look like made by a left-handed?"

"Stay still, Al."

"Sure, I'm dead."

Hank stood behind Aldana, very close to her back, and slid his right arm under hers. He didn't need to fake a stab. Aldana stepped quickly away from him, her face pursed in revulsion. The other three scowled.

Ron shook his head. "Jeez, man! This is just so sick!"

Russell turned to Brock, begging him to say Hank was wrong. But no matter how much Brock hated to say Gillian was right, she'd nailed this one dead-on like she used to. So he nodded.

Aldana snorted, disgusted. "He holds them in his arms as he keeps stabbing them?" she asked. "Why?"

"It's his way to experience their last breath," said Brock, flat and calm. "As I said, he has performance issues. This is his surrogate for intercourse. And he's growing into it. That's why the second victim has more stab wounds inflicted from behind."

Fred came in, placid and smiling as usual, while the others digested the explanation. He headed straight to the coffee machine as he said, "Hey, T, don't waste your time searching for a match of the bullets." He turned to the others. "We've got a new handyman in town. His expertise is filing barrels. So the boys in the hood bring him their gats every now and then, and our fine citizen does his mojo on them, so the barrels don't leave the same marks on bullets anymore."

"Bet his waiting list must be worth a read," said Hank.

"He knows his business. He's even assigned specific days to the different gangs."

Ron scoffed. "So rival customers won't shoot each other at his place."

"Exactly." Fred sipped his coffee. "The pro is that I was allowed to talk to him. The con is that he's modified four 357 only this month. He was kind enough to inform that the owners didn't belong to any gang, but his privacy policies include deleting any contact information as soon as his job is finished when he gets his pay. Of course, his middle name is Memento, so he has no recollection whatsoever of these particular customers."

"Nothing at all," said Aldana.

"He can't even tell if they were earthlings."

They all turned to Brock.

He needed a moment to understand why. At this point, Gillian would reassign tasks according with the new information they had. Now they expected him to do it, since she was not there—'cause she was crawling in the shadows like a damn maggot, sure as hell waiting for the right moment to make some flashy appearance in her best rogue way and save the day; because she just had to be the hero every damn time and— "Coleman, we need to finish their profile to deliver it to the locals. And find the signature."

The others traded a look.

"Can we be of any help?" asked Aldana, roses and silk.

Brock knew they were there working with him only to please Gillian—and keep her on the loop, of course. And he wasn't about to make it any easier for them. However, he also knew they were just following orders. So he grumbled, "No, thanks."

Russell's phone buzzed then, and he picked up right away. "Hey, babe."

Brock had witnessed enough phone conversations between Russell and Gillian to recognize that tone. The way Aldana didn't even blink only proved him right.

"What? Wait, let me put you on speaker."

"...don't...! You already did."

Brock wondered if he'd ever stop feeling those angry chills at the very sound of Gillian's voice.

"Yep, so speak up."

There were voices in the background. A man speaking really loud. She raised her voice to say, "There's been a leak. A uniform shared a picture of Amy's car. So the windshield with the Libra sign painted in blood is out there and—"

"...I'M NOT GONNA HAVE IT! TRUST ME! WHOEVER DID THIS, I'M GONNA HAVE THEIR SORRY ASS!"

Ron frowned. "Is that...?"

"Is that Banks?" asked Hank, scoffing.

"Yeah. He's putting the fear of God in his staff."

Aldana looked over at the other end of the office. "Hey, lads, we need an alert on anything Libra-related posted from now on!"

"I got it!" Kurt replied.

"Stay sharps, lads," said Gillian. "This is gonna make the news any moment now. Gotta go."

"Take care, Reg."

"Fasten your seat-belt, Dorothy, 'cause Kansas is going bye-bye," muttered Fred, grimacing.

Brock didn't wait for Russell to disconnect and stalked out of the room, wearing a stormy scowl. He'd told Russell that keeping it from the news would backfire on them. And there it was. That was what they got for playing by Gillian's reckless rules. Now the Bureau would be accused of conducting in secret an investigation the general public should be aware of.