Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

presumably to the Mexican cartel.
    Mutt had been put in charge of the drivers and he’d offered ‘poor big brother’ Mitch a route. Driving for Mutt offered a much better way to destroy his stepfather than his original plan of simply framing him for drug distribution. Mitch had been skimming rifles from shipments for months. He’d also hacked into Mutt’s computer to make the invoices match what he’d actually delivered, forging his stepfather’s signature on all the reports.
    Because Mutt believed him to be stupid, he’d never been suspected, not even once. Because Mutt’s daddy had no clue he was a driver, he’d never been concerned about him. It was perfect.
    The rifles would soon be discovered by the cops – again, part of Mitch’s plan. The cops would see AK47s and think ‘Russian’. Because they weren’t stupid, either. When the Russians got wind of an investigation, they’d hunker down and check inventories. His stepfather’s books would be audited and the discrepancies discovered. Antonov would believe Mitch’s stepfather was a thief.
    From what Mitch had gleaned in prison, the Russians didn’t take kindly to thieves. If they didn’t kill his stepfather, the old man would wish they had.
    Mutt packed up his laptop, a gleam in his eye. ‘I think I’ll go down to the basement to see how much cash we’re talking about.’
    Mitch just smiled at him. Mutt would be so focused on all that pretty money that he wouldn’t think to look for anything else, like Pamela MacGregor. ‘I appreciate the help.’
    Mutt grinned at him. ‘What are brothers for?’
    Ask me in a week . I’ll have a really good answer then .
    Tuesday, December 3, 11.10 A.M.
    The cold wind felt good. Daphne drew a deep breath of fresh air and scanned the crowd. All the reporters were here. About twenty feet to her left stood Detectives Stevie Mazzetti and JD Fitzpatrick along with half a dozen deputies, their eyes watchful. After what had happened in the courtroom, it looked like the cops were taking no chances, for which Daphne was grateful.
    Still, there was a tension, a foreboding that crawled up her spine. Ignoring it for the moment, she cloaked herself in her composure.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve all heard that a jury of Mr Millhouse’s peers returned with a guilty verdict this morning. We are exceptionally pleased and hope this sends a clear message. We will not allow the murder of innocents to go unpunished and we will fight to bring justice to those who believe themselves above the law.’ She forced a small smile. ‘Now, it’s been a very long morning. If you’ll excuse—’
    ‘Miss Montgomery!’ It was Phin Radcliffe, the alpha dog of all the reporters. ‘Is it true that Reggie Millhouse’s mother slipped him a knife?’
    Somehow Radcliffe managed to be in the front row, every time. Pact with Satan , Daphne thought darkly. But he was good about giving their women’s center on-air coverage, promoting their fundraisers, so Daphne bit back her dislike.
    ‘There was a knife, but who gave it to whom, I don’t know for certain. The police acted swiftly to contain the threat, but there were injuries.’ She knew the media had gotten the EMTs on camera as they’d entered and exited the justice center. ‘I appreciate your discretion until the families of the injured have been notified.’
    Another reporter piped up. ‘Is it true Reggie’s mother attacked you?’
    ‘No comment,’ Daphne said, her smile faint.
    ‘Miss Montgomery!’ A young woman pushed her way to the front, at the far edge of the crowd.
    Daphne caught a flurry of motion from the corner of her eye. Stevie Mazzetti had answered her phone, her expression going very still. Her eyes flashed to Daphne’s. Something was wrong.
    ‘Miss Montgomery!’ The young woman raised her voice, her tone abrasive and accusatory. ‘I have a question for you.’
    Daphne ripped her gaze away from Stevie and back to the young woman, who stood far enough away that she had to squint.
    The woman smiled and Daphne had a flash of recognition, but it was too late. Her gaze dropped to the gun in Marina Craig’s hands. Reggie’s sixteen-year-old girlfriend, pregnant with his child, held the weapon at her hip with an ease that suggested she’d done so many times before.
    ‘Don’t do—’ Gunfire cracked the air and Daphne gasped, thrown backward against the concrete step as pain radiated from the center of her chest, then the back of her head.