Read Online Going Dark (Thorn Mysteries) by James W. Hall - Free Book Online

who’s in the loop. If the FBI wasn’t included, Frank, it wasn’t my decision.”
    “And here I thought we were all partners, trying to gel into one happy federal family.”
    “That’s why I called you. I’m ready to gel.”
    Sheffield managed a smile. His bureaucratic side was irritated, but these days that was a small slice of his emotional pie.
    “So here’s the story. It started thirteen months ago. I heard about Bendell when he went up for a ten-year stretch at Raiford. An animal rights activist, he and six others burned down a product-testing plant outside Orlando that was using cats for experiments—mascara, eyeliner. He was caught in the act.”
    “Mascara,” Sheffield said. “That’s what we’re doing now. Wasting our time on idiots like that.”
    “Part of my job, I follow up on these guys, find out who’s visiting them in prison, monitor their correspondence, see what dots we can connect. So I get word Bendell isn’t handling his incarceration well. He fits a profile we look for. With save-the-planet softies like these, it happens a lot, prison life freaks them out. A month or two they’re ready to give up their mamas.
    “I went to Raiford, sat down with Bendell. He seemed pliable. So I spent a couple of weeks working on him till he flipped. Homeland Security put together a package, got Justice to sign off, and Bendell took it. We put him in a house in Miami; next few months he goes to political rallies, land-use meetings, anything with an environmental edge. He holds up signs, taunts the cops, lets the local activist groups get to know him, see who tries to buddy up. Just trolling for whoever might be out there. It doesn’t usually work. This time it did.”
    “Why didn’t you just pick up the phone, let me know?”
    “Didn’t want to bother you. One foot in retirement, you’re preoccupied phasing into civilian life.”
    Frank watched her weave through the heavy traffic. Behind the wheel this laid-back woman was a cutthroat. Something to factor in.
    “Bendell was doing good work,” she said, shooting Frank a solemn look. “He could talk the talk, had the right cred, knew people who knew people. So one day he gets a call from Cameron Prince. And, bingo, he’s invited inside.”
    “So now Marcus is a carcass, you’re in mourning.”
    “Jesus, Frank.”
    “Sorry. It sounded funnier in my head.”
    She was silent for a moment, trapped at the speed limit behind a plumbing truck.
    “I’m not saying Bendell was an angel, but he was a decent guy. So, yeah. I’m not happy about this. We were getting close to something.”
    “You going to tell me what?”
    “I’m working up to it.”
    “Okay, let me tell you what I’m hearing. You were fine sitting on this until your guy is offed, but because a federal informant is killed in suspicious circumstances, you need us. So this isn’t courtesy.”
    “It’s true, Frank. I could use your help.” She cut right, swerved past the plumbing truck.
    “Hey, are we in some kind of hurry? ’Cause if we are, maybe you should turn on your blue light.”
    “Don’t have one. Why? Do women drivers scare you?”
    “Nothing so global as that.” Frank tugged his shoulder harness tighter.
    She glanced over at him, at his shirt, and gave him that half smile. As if she was embarrassed for him and wanted to say something, but was holding fire. Fifth or sixth time she’d shown that smile, starting when she’d shown up at the Silver Sands Motel, where he lived on Key Biscayne.
    Nine thirty that morning, he was waiting for her at the concrete picnic table, dressed in his best Hawaiian shirt, the yellow one with blue hula girls, and faded jeans and loafers. Showered, hair combed, ready. His brown hair going sandy and thinning in back, but his body holding up, still trim. His face showed he was nearing sixty, weathered from years in the South Florida sun, with blue, honest eyes, an easy smile, a single shiny scar on the bridge of his nose from a sucker