A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes) (57 page)

The suppressor was top of the range.  There was just a sound like a muffled cough. 
Roy made a high-pitched shriek like a stuck pig as the round travelled on through the plastic of the shower base and the floor beneath, to no doubt plug in the ground under Rita’s trailer.

“Let’s try again,”
Logan said to him, the way a schoolteacher would talk to a boy with learning difficulties.  “You know what happened to Chris Reeve, don’t you?”

Roy
nodded as he moaned.

“He fell off his horse and wound up a quadriplegic for the last ten year of his life,”
Logan continued.  “One bullet in your spine and you get to be like Superman wound up.  Understand?”

Roy
nodded again.

“Good.  I checked your pockets while you were snoozing.  You’re obviously stupid or arrogant,
Roy, because you carry a wallet.  That’s very unprofessional.  I also checked your cell, to see who your contacts are.  Which is it?”

“Which is what?” 
Roy asked in a trembling whisper.

“Stupid, arrogant, or both,”
Logan said as he leaned forward and turned off the shower.

Roy
looked as if he might start crying.

“So who’s the other idiot that missed
Sharon in D.C.?”  Logan asked, aiming the gun at Roy’s remaining big toe.

“Sal Mendez.” 
Roy said.  He had lost what little resilience he’d had.  Knew that the big guy would do whatever it took to get his questions answered.

“OK.  So far, so good.  Who paid you both to hit the women?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Roy said, squeezing his eyes shut as he expected to lose another toe.  “I got a call from a third party, a regular go-between.”

“His name and details?”

“Sammy Lester.  He drives a limo for a company in Charleston.”

“Who owns the company?”

“Jerry Brandon.  He has a Toyota dealership.  Also owns the limo service.”

“Did
Brandon put out the contract?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know for sure.
  We were told to get a disk or memory stick from whichever of the broads had it.  No details.”

“Which one of you two princes ran Richard Jennings down in the street like a dog?”
Logan asked Roy.

“It was Sal,”
Roy said too quickly, trying to lay off the blame.

“Where have you arranged to meet him?”

“I haven’t.  He’ll head on back to Charleston.  We don’t meet socially, only to work.”

“His address?”

Roy gave it to him.

“Thanks,”
Logan said, and blew Roy’s other big toe off.