No, that wasn’t right, he amended. Some of the cops had looked at him with apprehension. Like they thought he’d talk if pressed.
Maybe he would, he thought, scrambling to find something to hold on to. Maybe that was his bargaining chip. He’d tell Stone that he wouldn’t talk to the higher authorities about what was going on in the back room at the Lone Star Country Club if the chief would just turn his back and let him go free. He’d leave everything behind and get the hell out of this place. The money, they could have that, they could have everything. He didn’t care about anything anymore.
All he wanted was his freedom.
The cell was cold. His shirt was sticking to his back.
The sound of approaching footsteps had him jerking his head up, straining to hear. On his feet again, Bancroft wrapped his hands around the bars, craning his neck to try to see who was coming.
The figure came into view.
It was all or nothing, Bancroft thought. “Oh, it’s you. Good. I have something to say.”
Stone searched his pockets for a match. He’d left his damn lighter someplace again and he needed a smoke. Badly. This powder keg he was sitting on kept defying containment. He didn’t like that.
He should have known that if you wanted a thing done right, you did it yourself. The more people you trusted, the greater the risk became. Weak links always cropped up and there were weak links in this chain….
The urgent knock on his door interrupted his search. The next second, the door to his office was being opened and one of the new men, Mulrooney, burst in.
Stone looked at him coldly before lowering his eyes to the center desk drawer he’d just opened. “When you knock, you’re supposed to wait for a response.”
“I’m sorry, Chief, but you’re going to want to come quick to see this.”
Stone closed the drawer. There were no matches there. “See what?”
“It’s Bancroft—”
The chief raised a brow. “What about him?”
“French went to see him and then she came right out again, yelling for me to come with her and—” Mulrooney licked his lips, the horror of the scene freshly imprinted on his mind. He was still a rookie and hadn’t seen death close-up yet. Until now.
“And?”
“He hung himself, Chief. With his belt. I found him just hanging there like a side of beef—” Mulrooney’s voice almost broke.
Stone shook his head. “Poor bastard.” He sighed heavily. “Look, I’ll be right there. If you haven’t yet, get some men to cut him down. I’ve just got to finish something first.”
Numbly, Mulrooney nodded, withdrawing.
“And shut the door, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone waited until the door was closed. Finding a half-used matchbook in the top side drawer, he settled back in his chair and lit the cigar he’d been saving.
One loose end down.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Marie Ferrarella for her contribution to the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6843-6
ONCE A FATHER
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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