Midnight Vigilante, Leonor Bass [top business books of all time .TXT] 📗

house, the third already removed. Although their deaths had seemingly been less violent than those at the scene earlier in the week, there was still a considerable amount of blood.

“The Midnight Vigilante again?” Marcus asked Adrian.

“Not entirely sure. This isn’t exactly his M.O.”

Marcus moved closer to one of the bodies and removed his sunglasses, searching the victim’s skin for bruising he wouldn’t find. “Who is this guy?”

“Noah Kirkland. Business man, owner of a cigarette company. The others are his bodyguards.”

“Why does everyone in this town have bodyguards?” Marcus mused.

Adrian and the other two cops examining the scene shrugged. “Anyway, all of them were shot, two in the head, and Noah in both kneecaps as well as his head.”

“Execution style, too, not just a lucky shot. This man must have pissed someone off. This is personal. Maybe he owed him something. Money, maybe? Almost everything is about money,” Marcus said under his breath.

“Or he’s just a bad guy who died. Painfully.”

Marcus turned and narrowed his eyes at Adrian. “That’s an incredibly cavalier statement to make. Is there something you’d like to add? Are you happy to see him dead?”

“What?” Adrian gasped. “No, of course not. I just know he’s not the type that’ll be missed by the town, that’s all. He was just a businessman that sometimes–”

“That sometimes what?”

“Sometimes he gambled,” Adrian replied in a quiet voice. “It’s not as important as you might think, though. Almost half of this town gambles. No one makes a big of a deal about it.”

Marcus exhaled heavily and removed a notepad from his back pocket, scribbling something and rambling to himself. “Anything else you want to share with the rest of the class?”

Before Adrian could answer, a rookie cop approached the partners.

“Excuse me, sir? I’ve got something interesting you might like to know.”

“What now?”

“The man—the dead man—the deceased. He was last seeing talking to a woman,” the young man said, searching his notes as Marcus glared at him impatiently. “Yes. Her name is Riley Spencer. She works at Mr. Eaton’s bar as a waitress.”

Marcus pondered for a second as the man spoke, waiting for the bell to ring at the name “Riley Spencer.” He decided the name was probably common; it was just a coincidence that was tied to an old case from the city.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Marcus walked into Mr. Eaton’s bar, a bit surprised at how crowded the place was so early in the morning. The smell of alcohol made him wrinkle his nose, especially mixed with whatever was wafting from the men’s rooms. He wasn’t a fan of crowded bars, or drunken men, but he needed to find Riley Spencer.

A bit closer to the counter, a redheaded woman cleaned glasses as she hummed an old Sinatra song about the big city. Marcus recognized her bright blue eyes when they crossed his, and the expression on her face when she saw him walking through the door.

She remembered too.

“I knew the name rang a bell,” Marcus greeted her.

Riley narrowed her eyes at him and almost dropped the glass she was holding. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“This is my hometown, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I think right now it is.”

“Why? Are you gonna interrogate me for something else? Did I breathe too loudly last time we saw each other?”

Marcus smirked again and Riley looked like she was one step closer to wiping off that smile with a slap across his face. “Hey, come on. There’s no reason to be harsh. I didn’t come here on a courtesy visit. I’m doing my job, just like everybody else.”

“Right, like the job you did when my husband died. I’m sure of it.”

“Listen, what happened to your husband was bad. Even if I didn’t get the chance to say I’m sorry about it, it doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. But–”

“But he was just another dead gangster, right? Why bother,” Riley continued for him. “I don’t need your apologies, or your condolences.”

Riley moved away and he followed.

“A man is dead,” Marcus said, chipping away at the tension between them before adding to it again. Riley turned around to face him “Noah Kirkland. He was shot last night. Some people said you were the last person he spoke to.”

“I work in a bar. I speak to a lot of people.”

“After your shift is over, too?”

“What are you accusing me of now?”

“Nothing. I’m following a line of investigation, and you were the last person who saw him alive. I’m interested in knowing what you two spoke about, if you don’t mind sharing. It wasn’t anything too personal, or intimate, was it?”

Riley stopped to contemplate her answer. Marcus had the ability to connect the dots fast. All he needed was a clue or two from her and it could be enough to figure out whether she was involved or not. It had happened before, when Santino died, though that investigation had gone downhill when she left the city. In his mind he was certain she had something to with the whole case.

“He asked me if he could drive me home, and I said no.”

Marcus eyed her, trying to find some hint of deceit in her face. “That’s it?”

“Yes. He was here, he was drinking. He saw me leave, then he asked me if he could take me home because it was dark. I politely declined. The end,” Riley said.

“Okay,” Marcus sighed, putting his notepad back in his pocket and withdrawing a business card. “In case you remember anything–”

“I won’t remember anything because there isn’t anything else to remember,” Riley interrupted. “Why do I feel like we’re reliving a conversation we’ve already had? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because last time, you were lying.”

Riley fell silent. “I wasn’t lying. It wasn’t my story to tell. Santino’s business affairs were his own. I had nothing to do with them,” she replied. “You were supposed to figure out the rest by yourself. That’s what they pay you for, right?”

When Marcus was about to respond,