Free Let the Devil Sleep by John Verdon

How was I supposed to know he was coming? He said an evidence guy would be back here tonight to check out the basement. I guess it’s a good thing that I couldn’t bring myself to go down there and clean the stairs. Jeez, I get the chills thinking about it! And he’s insisting on sticking those creepy little spy cameras all around the apartment.”
    “Is it true that you previously refused them?”
    “He said that?”
    “He also said he ran lab tests on the bathroom bloodstain.”
    “So?”
    “I’d gotten the impression from you that he hadn’t done much of anything.”
    She paused before answering. “It wasn’t so much what he did or didn’t do. The problem was his
attitude
. It was really sucky. He couldn’t have cared less.”
    Although this response didn’t quite resolve the matter in Gurney’s mind, he decided to let it drop—at least for now.
    “Kim, I’m looking at the background sources listed on the finalpage of your document—in particular a detective by the name of Hardwick. How does he happen to be involved in this?”
    “You know him?” Her voice sounded wary.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Well … when I started researching the Good Shepherd case a few months ago, I gathered the names of the law-enforcement people who were mentioned in news reports back when it happened. One of the earlier shootings took place in Hardwick’s jurisdiction, and he was one of the state police investigators who was temporarily involved.”
    “Temporarily?”
    “Everything changed after the third weekend, I think it was, when one of the shootings occurred over the state line in Massachusetts. At that point the FBI took over.”
    “Special Agent in Charge Matthew Trout?”
    “Yeah, Trout. Control-freak asshole.”
    “You’ve spoken to him?”
    “He told me to go back and read the press releases issued by the FBI at the time. Then he instructed me to submit my questions in writing. Then he refused to answer any of them. If you call that speaking to him, then I guess I did. Officious jerk!”
    Gurney smiled to himself.
Welcome to the FBI
.
    “But Hardwick was willing to talk to you?”
    “Not so much at first—not until he discovered that Trout was trying to control the information flow. Then he seemed happy to do whatever would make Trout unhappy.”
    “That’s Jack. Used to say that FBI stood for Fucking Blithering Idiots.”
    “He’s still saying it.”
    “So why is Trout on your information list if he refuses to provide any?”
    “That’s more for the RAM people. Trout might not talk to me, but Rudy Getz is different. You’d be amazed at who returns his calls. And how fast.”
    “Interesting. And what about the third name—Max Clinter?”
    “Max Clinter. Well. Where to start? Do you know anything about him at all?”
    “The name rings a distant bell, that’s about it.”
    “Clinter was the off-duty detective who got entangled in the final Good Shepherd attack.”
    The memory of the tabloid accounts came back. “Was he the guy with the art student in his car … drunk out of his mind … firing his gun out the window … sideswiped a guy on a motorcycle … got blamed for the Good Shepherd escaping?”
    “Yep.”
    “He’s one of your sources?”
    Kim’s voice was defensive. “I’m taking whatever and whoever I can get. The problem is that just about everyone involved in the case refers all questions to Trout—which is like dropping them into a black hole.”
    “So what have you managed to find out from Clinter?”
    “That’s not easy to answer. He’s a strange man. With a lot on his mind. I’m not sure I understand all of it. Maybe we could talk about it tomorrow in the car? I didn’t realize how late it was getting, and I need to take a shower.”
    Although Gurney didn’t believe her, he didn’t object. He was eager to talk to Jack Hardwick.
    The call went into voice mail. He left a message.
    Dusk was rapidly darkening into night. Rather than turn on the light in the