Chapter 85
Dom had listened to Heather’s words, seen her evidence—and he would have thought it was Daniel, too.
Everything lined up just too perfectly not to be their Daniel.
He knew it wasn’t, but at first glance, he’d have been convinced, too.
If he hadn’t met the man himself, hell yes he’d have been sure the guy they’d been after was Daniel McKellen, too.
He understood why Heather was so leery of Daniel from the very beginning, even without what Wilson had done to her.
It just made sense.
Now he had copies of what she had found on the conference table. Copies of what Heather’s sister and the love of his life had collected in their little forays into the past. And everything Jarrod and Gunnar and the rest of Major Crimes had found.
Things were lining up.
They had seven names—six men, one woman.
He was trying to narrow that list down right now.
They’d only get one shot to get it right without sounding the alarm.
If they were wrong—it would set everything back again.
At this point, Daniel McKellen’s father had been…
removed from the list. Both Miguel and Heather agreed that as their investigation had gone on, it had veered away from Daniel’s father enough.
But…Hughes Heights was the devil’s den—as Heather had put it.
He couldn’t think of a better description.
He looked at the man next to him. “We have enough—to start asking some serious questions. They are not getting out of this.”
“You want to get the warrants now? Marshall has the DA on the line to make it happen. DA is happy to oblige the good old governor’s cousin,” Miguel asked. “I am looking forward to this.”
They were right on the edge of having exactly what they had been working on for years. Dom just didn’t want to rush in and screw something up. “Dot the I’s and cross the Ts one more time. Make sure we haven’t missed anything. No one is getting out of this now.”
One hundred twenty-six law enforcement officers, spouses, children, or TSP personnel—had either been killed or had simply disappeared.
Usually right when that cop was in the middle of a case that had significant implications.
Those were just the ones they’d found to put on the list. Dom suspected there were far more.
No one had put it together—or had been eliminated whenever they had.
But seven names were a hell of a lot closer than they had been before.
He was in the conference room going over it all again, when a small incident report at the bottom of one of Hope’s stack fell to the floor. Dom grabbed it, and looked.
There it was. H. Coleson. Heather had taken the yellow sheet.
It was an assault complaint—signed off on by Melvin Stillman.
In regards to two men arguing over a young woman in a bar that had drifted over to Hughes Heights.
The neighbor had complained—calling the two men Ernie Newcomb’s boy and Victor Scott’s boy.
They had damaged a parked car. One with a hefty price tag.
Interesting.
He hadn’t even known Ernie Newcomb had a son. But apparently, the former head of homicide did. Head of homicide, and a murder-for-hire-slash-dead-cop ring. It was almost too easy to believe.
It should have been found a long time ago. And it would have—except Dom suspected the leader of this little cushy side gig had had help. Someone who would make questionable things just…go away.
Now Dom just had to find Ernie Newcomb’s son. The son angle was what had been throwing him off. Everything they had had lined up with it being a father/son combination. Kimball had made it clear there were sons involved.
Ernie Newcomb hadn’t fit their profile in that one regard. Now he did.
Dom was headed back to his own desk to ask MacNamara if he knew if Newcomb had a son. Dom had known Newcomb for ten years—he had never seen any hint that Newcomb had any family at all. He’d heard the man was widowed decades ago. That was it.
Movement by the glass doors to the bullpen had him stopping. He looked up.
Melvin Stillman stood there.
A Bible and a file folder clutched in his hands.
“Acardi? We need to talk.”