Read Online The Searcher by Simon Toyne - Free Book Online

It had been taken from inside Morgan’s car, the air outside filled with grit that softened the image, though the figure of the man standing at the center was clear. He seemed to shine in the sunlight, his face gazing up at something the photograph did not show. “Who’s that?”
    â€œHe says he can’t remember, but the label in his jacket says he’s called Solomon Creed.” He swiped the screen and the picture changed. “He also had this on his arm.”
    Cassidy looked at the livid red mark upon the man’s skin then at Morgan for an explanation.
    â€œLooks like a kill tag to me,” Morgan obliged. “Cartel hit men getthem to show they’ve clipped someone important. Usually they’re tattoos, but sometimes they cut themselves or brand themselves, like this.”
    Cassidy looked back down at the photo as he realized what Morgan was suggesting. “You think this guy might have . . .”
    â€œShot the plane down? Maybe. Say he knocked it out with some missile, got caught in the blast, banged his head, and now can’t remember who he is. Or maybe he knows exactly who he is and just isn’t saying. The cartels use some pretty unusual characters as gunmen south of the border—gives the norteños something to sing about. So I don’t think the notion of an albino being used as a hit man is beyond the realm of possibility. They’re superstitious about albinos down there anyways. Hell, they’re superstitious about everything. They think the white skin shows they got divine power, like they’ve been touched by God or something. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that he might have done it. He was there, he was running away from the crash, he even said the fire was there because of him, and he’s got this mark on his arm. It’s all circumstantial, but we don’t need it to hold up in a court of law, we only need Tío to buy it. Someone is going to have to pay for his son’s death—and I don’t mean offer him cash, say sorry, and hope everything’s going to go away. Blood will have to pay for blood here, so that’s what we have to give him. We give him this guy. We give him Solomon Creed.”
    Cassidy swiped the screen and stared hard at the picture of the pale man standing on the desert road. Then he shook his head and handed the phone back. “I think I should talk to Tío first, try for a diplomatic solution before we start . . . throwing human sacrifices at him. We don’t even know who this guy is. Have you run an ID check?”
    â€œHe’s not on the NCIC.”
    â€œThat only proves he’s not a criminal. What about the missing persons channels—DMV, Social Security?”
    â€œWhat’s the point?”
    â€œThe point is, we’re talking about a man’s life here.”
    â€œNo. The point is, we’re talking about several people’s lives, including yours and mine. We’re talking about the survival of this town. I don’t want to know who this guy is. I don’t need to know. But I’ll tell you something else: he had a copy of Jack Cassidy’s memoir in his pocket, personally inscribed to him by Jim Coronado.”
    Cassidy felt the blood drain from him. “You think he knew Jim?”
    â€œHe says he can’t remember, but when I asked him about the book he said he felt like he was here because of Jim. He said he felt like he was here to save him.”
    â€œJesus. He said that?”
    Morgan nodded. “Asked me how he died and whether he could talk to Holly. So, whichever way you chop it up, this guy is a potential problem for us. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s actually a solution. The way I figure it, Tío’s going to find out about him sooner or later, which means he’s a dead man whatever we do or don’t do. So if we give him up, we win ourselves some loyalty points and hopefully cut