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The 6:20 Man(79)

Author:David Baldacci

“Okay, okay, I guess I deserved that. But the thing is, Sara wouldn’t sleep with him, or so Cowl complained to me. Do you think that’s a motive for him to kill her?”

“Come on, he could have pretty much any woman he wanted.”

“But the woman he apparently wanted was Sara and she was having no part of it. That might have pissed him off.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you?”

“The guy, as far as I know, has no alibi for when she was murdered. And maybe he lied to me. Maybe they did sleep together. And she got pregnant and the child was his. And maybe he paid to have it aborted, and she regretted it and was going to expose what had happened. The boss impregnating the help and then paying for her abortion? Do you know how much money Cowl gets from church and state pension funds and teachers’ unions and other organizations that would frown on that sort of thing?”

“He wasn’t the father.”

He stared warily at her. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“How?” Devine persisted.

“Sara told me.”

“Why would she do that? You weren’t close friends.”

“We . . . we were closer than I let on.”

“Wait a minute. If that’s true, did she tell you the real reason why she was interested in the play Waiting for Godot?”

“I don’t know.”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know? Either you do or you don’t.”

“She was worried about something. But she wouldn’t fully confide in me. I think she was scared. I told you that before. And she didn’t want to involve me. I think she was protecting me.”

Devine studied her. He said slowly, “It sounds like you and Sara were way more than friends.”

“Sara and I—”

“Sara and you what?”

“I . . . I can’t—”

Devine was out of patience. “For God’s sake. Sara is dead! Just fucking tell me!”

She drew in a long, tortured breath and then let it go. “We . . . we were in love. Okay! We were in love. Satisfied, asshole?”

She jumped up, hurried over to the Prius, started it up, and drove off.

Devine just sat there and watched Stamos disappear into the dark.

He finally went back inside, where Valentine said, “Damn, she is so hot. Are you doing her?”

“Just shut up, Will. Just shut the hell up.”

Devine, his mind reeling, walked upstairs to his room and slammed the door.

CHAPTER

45

FOUR FIFTEEN A.M.

Ten minutes into his workout at the high school. Warm, muggy, dark, cloudy skies, sprinkles of a predawn summer rain commencing.

Devine was already loosened up, sweaty, into a rhythm, trying to focus on his physical side, while his mental side was all over the place. There was simply too much to process. And whenever that happened to him, he had focused back on the basics. Take one step, figure it out, and go on to the next step. And the one after that. At some point it would start to make sense.

At least I hope to God it will.

It was then that the three men stepped from the outer rim of the darkness and blew up all his thoughtful plans. However, Devine had heard them coming and moved forward to confront them.

“Why, if it isn’t Detective Karl Hancock of NYPD, where no one knows your name.”

He looked at the other two men, carbon copies of Hancock, only white.

Hancock nodded. “Surprised it lasted as long as it did. You talked to them and told them about me and they went batshit, am I right?”

“Something like that.”

Devine looked at the other two guys as the rain started to fall. Remorseless bastards paid to do harm. He had seen enough of such men. They all pretty much looked the same. Zombies with guns.

Hancock took some gum from his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and started to chew it. His jacket was open. The Glock was there. They were all armed, Devine was sure of that. All he had was himself and whatever he could find to defend himself. He was pretty sure it would be enough. They had already made one cardinal mistake.

They didn’t kill me right away.

“Care to explain the subterfuge?” said Devine.

Hancock cracked a smile. “Subterfuge. Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day.”

“Seems the only one to fit, at least to me.”

Devine moved slowly to his left, an inch at a time, while not appearing to move at all.

“Who are you, Devine, really?”

“I can ask you the same thing.”

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