Page 38 of Go First

The reality was worse.

Cox lay sprawled on the floor, silent.A spreading stain darkened his shirt where blood poured from a dark wound in his abdomen.The water bottle had rolled under the table, its last drips soaking into the tiles.

Father Santos stood over him, a weapon clenched in white-knuckled hands, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.He looked like a man waking from a dream into a nightmare.

His voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper.“What have I done?”

Coates’s stomach twisted.He’d left the room for less than a minute.And in that minute, the whole world had changed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kate rubbed her temples as she leaned against the cool plaster wall of the corridor.The hum of fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual.

“Thank God O’Malley isn’t here,” she muttered.

Marcus raised an eyebrow.“Why?”

“Because it’d be the second time he’s pointed us toward someone who turns into a suspect.He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Marcus gave a half-smile.“Well, he won’t have a problem if Phillips turns out to be guilty.He’ll be all ‘I solved it for Valentine… the crucial lead was mine’.”

Kate made a face.“How likely is that, though?”

“Why say that?”

“Come on—we’ve no credible motive for her.A book like hers works best if the villains are alive, breathing, still out there.The public wants to watch them fall.”

“Or,” Marcus countered, “the public wants blood.Their deaths are the best advance publicity she could ask for.Tell me that wouldn’t move copies.”

Kate frowned.“But the book’s a good six months from publication, so much as it pains me to say it, the murders of Whitfield and Harper will be old news by the time it’s in the stores.Besides which, obsession doesn’t equal murder.To do work like hers—hell, to crack cases like ours—youhaveto be obsessed.And we’re not killers.So why should she be?”

Marcus didn’t argue further, but his silence carried weight.

They were about to step back into the interview room when the door creaked open and junior agent Poppy Klamath all but skidded into the hall, a sheaf of notes clutched in one hand.On top of being the youngest person in the field office, Klamath’s huge, perpetually fogged-up round spectacles and shock of wild red curls endeared her to pretty much everyone.But she wasn’t to be under-estimated, particularly when it came to research.

“Agents—update on Phillips’s alibis.”She pushed her glasses up with a nervous finger.“Thursday night, a taxi driver confirms he picked her up at Logan International, from the 11:30 p.m.flight from D.C.Dropped her at her home in Portland just before 3 a.m.Friday.And Friday evening, her boss, Professor Milton Jackman and his wife hosted a dinner party.Phillips stayed the night in their spare room.”

Marcus exhaled.“So she’s clear.”

“She’s clear,” Poppy repeated, relief and exhaustion mingling in her voice.

Back inside, Angela Phillips accepted the news with something like grace.She even managed a thin smile.“I told you I didn’t do it.But I understand why you had to make sure.And on that note, I might perhaps be able to help you.”

Kate leaned forward.“We’re listening.”

Phillips adjusted her glasses, then pulled out her phone.“Edward Stone.Bankruptcy attorney.Tried to sue Whitfield years ago on behalf of congregants who lost their savings.Failed.More or less bankrupted himself in the process.Since then, he’s made it his life’s mission to expose religious financial fraud.”She scrolled, then handed the phone across.“Saturday night, he sent me this.”

On the screen glowed a message, accompanied by emojis of laughing faces and celebratory champagne corks:‘Poetic justice!Both gone, in the most deservedly nasty way possible.I’m raising a glass to the killer.’

Marcus let out a low whistle.“Celebrating the murders?”

Kate studied the words on the phone, the digital glow stark against her skin.Another obsessed crusader, another life consumed by the need to expose.Only this time, the obsession had spilled over into applause for blood.

She slid the phone back across the table.“How long have you been friends?”

“He’s not a friend,” Phillips replied, briskly.“I’ve dealt with him, sure, in the course of my research.And hewasa pretty decent, likeable sort of guy.A good lawyer, too.But he’s become… unstable.Angrier every year.I don’t know if he’s capable of murder.But I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Kate and Marcus exchanged a glance.The chase was on.