Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Mercer sat in his parked car, a couple houses down and across the street from Guy's house. He wanted to talk to Guy and warn him that Gold was tying up all his loose ends - and Guy would be considered one of them. But it looked like he was too late. Gold's car was already parked outside when Mercer had arrived.

Finally, there was movement outside of Guy's house. The front porch light went dark. Then the outside flood light on the side of the house went dark. Mercer could make out Gold's shadowy figure sneaking out of the house and to his car.

As soon as Gold's car disappeared down the street, Mercer opened his car door and sprinted down the street to Guy's house. Careful not to leave any prints, Mercer smashed the windowpane closest to the door knob and reached through the remaining shards with a handkerchief to open the door from the inside.

As soon as Mercer stepped inside, he saw Guy's body with blood pooling around him. He checked for a pulse. Nothing. Gold had eliminated a possible whistle blower. There was little doubt in Mercer's mind that he would receive a call in less than ten minutes to take Guy's body and move it to another place, make it look like an accident. Mercer knew the drill far too well.

Acting quickly, Mercer put on a pair of latex gloves and began combing through Guy's personal effects.

He went straight for Guy's computer. No password lockout. Just an open window of Guy's home email inbox. Mercer saw a response from two email accounts, one ending in seattletimes.com and the other ending in sltrib.com. Guy had been communicating with other newspapers. Mercer opened the sent folder and read two emails to two editors who were acquaintances, informing them about an impending story that may come from a reporter named Cal Murphy. He stated a photographer named Kelly Mendoza would also send photos and other evidential material.

Then Mercer found Guy's cell phone on the kitchen table. Undoubtedly a few key entries had been deleted. The last call was to what appeared to be a local cell number about 45 minutes ago. According to the call records, the final one was a minute and a half long, much longer than the time it probably took for Gold to announce he was going to drop by and discuss a few things.

Mercer redialed the number.

***

Cal felt a familiar vibrating sensation in his pants pocket. He figured it was Guy calling with instructions on where to file his non-existent story, a story that might never get written. The buzzing served as a reminder of his frustration, but it also reminded him of something else as it made an awkward clanging sound: It reminded him of his pocket knife.

Sure, it was small. Cal could've probably hid it in his mouth if he needed to. But in his haste to finish his assignment, Yukon didn't confiscate cell phones, making the assumption that everything he needed was in Kelly's bag. But then, it wasn't like he was figuring either of the bound reporters could make an escape. Not at 75 miles an hour. Not with arms and legs bound in the bed of a pickup truck. Not on his watch.

Cal's hope returned. He began scooting closer to Kelly. Cal was already working on a plan.