Page 19 of What’s Left of You (What Left #2)

“What are you talking about?” I ask in a low voice, narrowing my eyes.

I’ve heard vague whisperings and rumors about my father since long before I took this case, but it’s never come from someone in a position like Julius Bradshaw.

Lying would gain him nothing, so if he’s sharing it’s either out of spite or the goodness of his heart.

I have a hard time believing the latter. He wants something, and part of me is worried about what he’s going to say.

This isn’t fucking relevant to the case. Stop getting distracted.

“You’re not going to speak with him,” Wallsburg tells me with a scoff. “His lack of security led to my son’s death. I won’t have you siding with the warden! He’s implicit in Kyle’s murder!”

I stop watching Bradshaw to focus on the captain.

There’s pain in his eyes, and his grip is so tight on the desk, I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke the old wooden top.

His knuckles are white, and behind all that rage is hurt.

Kyle was buried a month ago, and it’s done nothing to appease his father.

Lance doesn’t just want to bury his son and move on, he wants the murderer to suffer for killing him.

The only thing that I think will satisfy him is seeing Porscha behind bars to pay for her crimes.

The warden is still pending his reinstatement and the FDC is in no rush to give him an update.

His obsession with getting back to work could be as simple as cash flow and as shady as collaborating with Porscha behind our backs.

I did a round of questioning with him, but Tyler handled the last two interviews as lead.

She gets under his skin in ways I can’t, and he always seems to cave when she flashes him a smile.

She doesn’t have to try half as hard as I do to get him to shut up and listen, but Tyler’s charms can’t help me now.

“Captain Wallsburg,” I say, ignoring the burn of his glare when he looks my way. “No one is ignoring your son’s death. He’s still part of the investigation surrounding Porscha and Alastair. Until we have them, we can’t get a definitive answer why he was killed.”

“You think either one of them can give you an answer,” Wallsburg seethes.

“Porscha killed my son helping that, that, that criminal . Or she made Alastair do it. Or he chose to out of spite. One of them has to pay for the crime. When you get them, you give me five minutes alone with them and I’ll make them speak-”

“Captain,” I cut in, turning to him. Whatever he might say next is driven by rage and pain, and I don’t need to hear him threatening the people we are pursuing.

I think as broken as Lance is inside, he won’t do something to destroy the case around Porscha and Alastair.

Least of all if his actions work against justice for Kyle.

“I think you need a breather. I’ll walk Warden Bradshaw out, and we can talk after-”

“No.” The captain looks away from us, staring at the wall.

Near his desk is a photograph of Kyle when he graduated from the academy.

Underneath on a small shelf is a keepsake badge with his name and badge number, RETIRED stamped across the center.

He showed it to me at Kyle’s funeral, seemingly proud of his son and it was hard for me not to remind Captain Wallsburg that his son died siding with a killer.

If, for some reason, Kyle was acting undercover that would’ve been revealed long ago.

Instead he died standing against the badge he wore, not working for what it stood for.

But the captain can’t see through the haze of his grief.

Bradshaw clears his throat, looking between us as Captain Wallsburg falls silent.

Bradshaw’s peppered hair is sticking out in places from where he keeps running his hands through it, and despite his tough demeanour he has a t-shirt on that says World’s Greatest Grandpa , so he’s not dressing up to impress either of us. “I’ll see myself out, Captain.”

Wallsburg grunts as he waves us off, slumping down into his chair. He’s lost in the spiral that’s consumed him since Kyle died, and the warden shoots me a look.

“I’ll call if there are new details on the case,” I tell the captain, turning to the door. He doesn’t respond, and Bradshaw and I step out of the room in silence.

The department is sparse today. It’s not a surprise since the penitentiary is supposed to be restructuring their security, which is part of the reason Bradshaw wants back in so bad.

There’s a rift now between the PD and the prison, and whether CGP likes it or not, the prison can no longer syphon over employees from the police department when they need extra staff.

The two facilities are becoming their own entities, and from what I’ve heard the prison is hiring state employees.

Considering a Death Row felon managed to escape, the FDC decided to step in and make changes with how the prison is run.

More employees are being added to the staff, and there’s a clear divide now between the Citrus Grove Police Department and everyone working at CGP.

It should’ve been like this from the beginning but a lot of things seem to slip under the radar in Citrus Grove.

Then there’s the prison riots, but I stop that train of thought before it gives me a headache. Alastair escaping should have made national news, but the FBI is working to keep this story under wraps. They don’t want or need a national scandal.

“You’ll want to get me back into the CGP,” Bradshaw says when we’re partway across the room.

One of the officers smiles and nods to me, and I recognize Officer Murray.

He reported to Emeric’s when there was a gunshot outside, right before Jo and Vinny invited me into their world.

“Your father was smart enough to know that too.”

“Not in here,” I tell him beneath my breath, and his snide little chuckle makes my blood boil.

I really should’ve had someone come with me. But body number seven is waiting to be identified by the victim’s family, and the sixth victim is still a Jane Doe. My team needs to focus, not get distracted with drama.

For all I know, body number eight is pending.

Since the prison break, we haven’t separated the copycat killings from the more recent ones—we’ve been grouping them all together to try to keep track.

Eventually when we differentiate which kills were Porscha versus Alastair, they’ll have to be reordered to reflect the killing cycle.

Once we’ve cleared the building and made our way to visitor parking, I stop on the curb and face him. “What do you think you’ve got to tell me that I don’t already know,” I ask with a glare.

Bradshaw throws his head back, laughing like I’ve told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard, pressing a hand to his chest before he manages to calm down enough to speak.

“Oh, you think you know everything, don’t you!

I doubt Daddy Dearest shared some of his less saintly means of persuasion with his little protégé. ”

I frown. Jo’s mentioned this before. “Are you talking about the rumors?”

“The ones about him assaulting victims?” Bradshaw asks, raising a brow. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Agent Gideon. He had a reputation. He could close cases, put away the worst killers, but he wasn’t a saint. Why do you think he retired early?”

I’ve talked with dad plenty over the years about his time in the FBI. He’s never mentioned the rumors to me, but we both know he did shady shit. It’s part of the reason I avoid him now.

“Dad retired for lots of reasons,” I offer, rocking on my heels.

The Slayer was Dad’s biggest case. He spent more time in Citrus Grove working that case than he did on anything else.

Arresting Alastair was his legacy, and now all of that is being questioned because of Porscha's sudden reappearance.

“Cancer was the big one. Certain allegations may have been another.”

Bradshaw chuckles again. “Maybe there were more than allegations. Your father based his career off the successful arrest of Constantine. He apprehended a criminal mastermind barely out of high school. You never thought that some of the specifics were a little… sophisticated for a kid who just turned eighteen?”

I shrug. “He had a good understanding of anatomy and could easily subdue women. He had a type, he agreed to that when he admitted to the crimes.”

“Anyone can have a good understanding of anatomy,” Bradshaw argues, and I cross my arms. “Hell, any high school student knows anatomy. Porscha could have studied up on it. Maybe she was the real Slayer all along.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not an avenue we’re concerned about with new bodies appearing,” I tell him. “We’ll study the past when we’ve stopped this new killer. What is it that you want to hear from me, Warden?”

Bradshaw grins, but it isn’t friendly. “Do you think the prison is a mess right now? The longer your boss keeps an interim in place holding shit together, the worse things will get. I had a structure to the system. Death Row inmates had little contact with the rest of the prison population. The few murderers we housed were on revolving schedules where they never crossed paths. Until Wallsburg crossed us, I ran a tight ship.”

“And all it took to distract you from your precious schedule was one fake professor?” I ask sarcastically.

“Char-” He clears his throat. “Porscha didn’t distract me.

I had a few conversations on the phone with her but my policy for guests isn’t flexible.

The university wanting to bring over grad students was risky, but Professor Artemis convinced me that was a good plan some years ago.

If I had known she knew Porscha I would never have let it happen. ”

I blow out a breath. Artemis is on suspension, kind of like Bradshaw here, but she’s adamant she only ever knew Char. She claims no knowledge about the connection between Porscha and her alias.