Джеффри Дивер - Where the Evidence Lies [A Lincoln Rhyme Short Story]

Money. The dullest of motives.

Though certainly one of the most common.

The partner, Gillette explained, knew Cable from the army and had raised the subject, knowing that Cable had been discharged for some shady business dealings. Cable suggested both he and Gillette — who’d together had put together various criminal activities in the Miami area — would take care of Nash for $200,000.

“You did the right thing, talking to us,” Crenshaw said, pocketing the statement. “Come on. Let’s get you to the station.”

As they walked past the squad car where Cable sat, Gillette glared at him.

But the younger deputy said, “Don’t worry. We’ll beat ’em.”

Gillette stopped, frowning.

“Just don’t say a word and we’ll be okay. They don’t have anything. No evidence, remember?”

Gillette blurted, “But didn’t you...? You gave me up!”

“Hell, no. I didn’t say a word! What’re you talking about?”

Gillette spun around and glared at Sachs. “You said he gave you everything you needed.”

She replied, “He did. His address, phone number, and Social. That was all we wanted at this point.” She blinked in curiosity. “What did you think I meant?”

“You lied, bitch.”

Rhyme said icily, “It was hardly a lie. You misinterpreted what she said.”

Crenshaw nodded toward the two officers beside Gillette. “Get ’em both downtown.”

The sheriff thanked Rhyme and Sachs and walked back to his own car. Sachs and Rhyme returned to the van, where Thom was getting the accessible ramp ready. She said, “So what did you think, Rhyme? How was your first evidence-free case?”

“No question, Sachs: as between dealing with witnesses on the one hand, and a crime scene five miles underwater on the other, I’ll take Davy Jones’s locker any day. People... they’re way too much trouble. Say, Thom, is it cocktail hour yet?”