Page 3
Story: City of Death
“But listen,” Moody said, his expression going sour now. “You…you can’t use my name, okay? Jim is mixed up with some bad cats, you know?”
She hated the idea of people linked to Spurlock—the man who very likely killed her husband—begging favors from her. But at the same time, she knew it might be in her best interests to keep Moody’s name out of it. She was starting to understand that was how you sometimes got inside scoops on criminal dealings. There were several men back at the precinct who had men just like Moody in their back pockets. Some called these sorts of men stool pigeons.
“So long as this works out and I don’t find you’re lying to me, I don’t see why your name would have to come up at all, Mr. Moody. I do thank you for your time.”
Moody stared at her for a moment, as if he didn’t quite trust that she was going to let him go so easily. He finally gave her a little nod and turned to continue on his way. He walked a bit faster than before, maybe wondering if Ava was going to change her mind about letting him off so easily.
She wondered if it might be to her benefit that her next stop in locating Spurlock was to see a man currently locked up at Welfare Island. It may be a little unjust, but she supposed any criminal might always wonder in the back of their heads if a visiting cop might be able to lighten their sentence or, at the very least, improve their conditions.
She wasn’t sure, but she had some time to think about it. It was after five in the afternoon and the day had been a slow one. She wanted to get home to see Jeffrey and to make sure her father was taking care of himself. Frank would be there, too, eventually. He’d started coming around a lot in the past two weeks as Jeffrey had warmed to him.
In a strange way, their little misfit group was starting to feel like a family—a strange dichotomy indeed, given that she was still knee-deep in trying to find Clarence’s killer. Still, having lost Clarence had opened her eyes to just how much more she needed to start valuing relationships. And with that lesson in mind, she gave one final look to Harlan Moody’s back before crossing the street and heading in the opposite direction for home.
She hated the idea of people linked to Spurlock—the man who very likely killed her husband—begging favors from her. But at the same time, she knew it might be in her best interests to keep Moody’s name out of it. She was starting to understand that was how you sometimes got inside scoops on criminal dealings. There were several men back at the precinct who had men just like Moody in their back pockets. Some called these sorts of men stool pigeons.
“So long as this works out and I don’t find you’re lying to me, I don’t see why your name would have to come up at all, Mr. Moody. I do thank you for your time.”
Moody stared at her for a moment, as if he didn’t quite trust that she was going to let him go so easily. He finally gave her a little nod and turned to continue on his way. He walked a bit faster than before, maybe wondering if Ava was going to change her mind about letting him off so easily.
She wondered if it might be to her benefit that her next stop in locating Spurlock was to see a man currently locked up at Welfare Island. It may be a little unjust, but she supposed any criminal might always wonder in the back of their heads if a visiting cop might be able to lighten their sentence or, at the very least, improve their conditions.
She wasn’t sure, but she had some time to think about it. It was after five in the afternoon and the day had been a slow one. She wanted to get home to see Jeffrey and to make sure her father was taking care of himself. Frank would be there, too, eventually. He’d started coming around a lot in the past two weeks as Jeffrey had warmed to him.
In a strange way, their little misfit group was starting to feel like a family—a strange dichotomy indeed, given that she was still knee-deep in trying to find Clarence’s killer. Still, having lost Clarence had opened her eyes to just how much more she needed to start valuing relationships. And with that lesson in mind, she gave one final look to Harlan Moody’s back before crossing the street and heading in the opposite direction for home.
Table of Contents
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