Free When Darkness Falls by James Grippando

spastic, but he was merely signaling Jack to follow him back toward the bridge. They walked until the Jamaican seemed comfortable with their distance from the crime scene.
    “Do you know where Falcon is?” said Jack.
    “He’s running.”
    “Running from what?”
    The Jamaican glanced back toward the cops, but he said nothing.
    “Did Falcon kill that woman?” asked Jack.
    The Bushman grimaced and stomped his foot, as if he’d just bitten into a sourball the size of a melon. “Shhhhhhhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.
    Jack lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I’m his lawyer. You can tell me why he’s running.”
    “He runs cuz he scared, mon.”
    “Scared of the police?”
    The Bushman scoffed so bitterly that he made a spitting sound. “He’s not scared of no police. He’s scared of her.”
    “Who is she?”
    He didn’t respond. Jack sensed that he knew the answer, but he just wasn’t ready to share it. Then Jack noticed the necklace around the Jamaican’s neck. It was identical to the one Falcon had worn-the one with the key to the safe deposit box on it. “Hey, that’s an interesting necklace you’re wearing. Where’d you get it?”
    “Falcon gave it to me.”
    “He gave it or-” Jack checked his words, not wanting to shut down the conversation by coming across as too accusatory. “Or did you borrow it?”
    “I don’t borrow nothin’, mon. He gave it to me. For protection.”
    “Protection from what?”
    The Jamaican’s gaze drifted back toward the crime scene. “Dat’s what I’m trying to tell you. Falcon says we all need protection. From her, mon.”
    “The dead woman? Who is she?”
    The Bushman leaned closer, cupping his hand to his mouth as he whispered, “She the Mother.”
    “Mother? You mean like a bad motha’?”
    “No. She’s their mother.”
    “Whose mother?”
    His voice became so soft that Jack could barely hear him. “Of the Disappeared, mon.”
    “She’s the mother of the disappeared?” said Jack, confused.
    A look of horror came over the Jamaican’s face, as if he could scarcely believe that Jack had uttered the words aloud. Jack said, “What does that mean-she’s the mother of the disappeared?”
    The Jamaican stepped away in obvious fright, balling his necklace tightly into his fist and clutching it against his chest. “No, you can’t have it! Get your own protection! Dis one is mine!”
    Jack searched for something to say, something to calm him, but the words didn’t come fast enough. The Jamaican turned and sprinted toward the bridge, one arm pumping, the other held close to his body. He kept on running until he vanished somewhere in the twilight beyond the marina.
    He was a troubled man, the conversation had been very odd, and Jack stood there in the waning moments of daylight as he pondered what seemed to be the strangest but most certain thing of all.
    The Jamaican surely would have killed him before giving up his gift from Falcon, his protection-that necklace of metal beads.

chapter 12
    A round nine p.m., Alicia met Detective Barber at the Joseph H.Davis Center for Forensic Pathology, a three-building complex on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical Center campus and Jackson Memorial Hospital. The nearby cancer center, eye institute, and spinal project were top-notch, but when it came to medical science, Miami’s living had nothing on its dead. The Davis Center was a first-rate, modern facility, with some of the best forensic specialists in the world.
    The body in Falcon’s car had put the City of Miami police on high alert. A down-on-his-luck homeless guy with his eye on the mayor’s daughter was one thing. A vicious killer was quite another. Investigators were covering every angle, so it seemed wise for Alicia to take a look at the victim before an autopsy made her unrecognizable. Fingerprint analysis having turned up nothing, the woman’s identity was still unknown. The face was battered beyond recognition, but