Free Vengeance Road by Rick Mofina

information. I trust that would be useful to you?”
    Relief spread across Styebeck’s face.
    â€œThat would be helpful.”
    â€œYou don’t deserve this, Karl. You’re a hero in the eyes of this community. A great number of people admire you. I enjoy the charity work we do together and want to maintain our relationship.”
    As Styebeck stood to leave, his attention went to the woman who’d entered the room.
    â€œKarl, this is my wife, Madeline, with the State Attorney General’s Office.”
    â€œYes, we’ve met at functions.” Styebeck shook her hand.
    â€œMaddy,” Fowler said, “I was just telling Karl how I value our relationship.”
    â€œHe thinks the world of you, Detective.” She smiled. “Did he tell you he’s willing to underscore that point at your fund-raiser this week?”
    â€œNo. That would be appreciated.”
    â€œIn fact—” Fowler put his hand on Styebeck’s shoulder as they walked to the door “—and this is confidential, please. But I’m considering a run for public office and would like to know that I can count on your support.”
    â€œI see…” Styebeck hesitated. “I don’t really get involved in politics.”
    â€œI understand completely, Karl,” Fowler said. “Not asking you to do or say anything. Just think about it. Besides, I’m taking steps to ensure this unfortunate matter will blow over.”
    â€œI need for that to happen.”
    â€œNow,” Fowler said, “I know it seems the obvious move for me would be to fire Jack Gannon.”
    â€œI didn’t want to raise that, or my legal options, here.”
    â€œRight. Just so you’re aware, I can’t fire him. Gannon’s Pulitzer caliber, one of my best reporters. I almost lost him once. And while he’s a zealous crusader, the fallout at the paper if I terminated him now would cause me too much grief with the news guild, just as we’re positioning to sell the paper. That’s confidential.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI’ve pulled Gannon off this story and suspended him. One wrong move on his part and he’s gone. That should keep him out of your business. How’s that sound, Karl?”
    â€œThat sound’s fine, Nate.”
    The men shook hands at the door then Styebeck got into his car.
    Unseen, in the park across the street, Jack Gannon watched Styebeck leave Nate Fowler’s house.

15
    G annon couldn’t believe this.
    Why was Karl Styebeck visiting Nate Fowler?
    He doubted they were discussing their charity work.
    Gannon walked from the park to his car then roamed the city, chewing on what he’d just witnessed, wondering where, or if, it fit with the latest aspects of the story. There was the mystery truck, the argument Bernice Hogan had had with another woman before she vanished, and the state police discrediting his reporting on Styebeck.
    And now Styebeck pays Fowler a late-night visit.
    Piece by piece a picture was emerging. Something large was percolating beneath the surface, but he didn’t know what it was.
    Was a cop suspected of murder being protected?
    All right, better let things simmer, he told himself as he got to Cheektowaga, one of Buffalo’s first suburbs. He lived in Cleveland Hill, a working- and middle-class neighborhood of proud, flag-on-the-porch homes built after the Second World War.
    Mostly Polish-American families lived here, going back two and three generations. But he hadn’t gone very far either. He’d grown up on the fringes of Cleveland Hill, near the Heights, a rougher district.
    Buffalo was his home. A place he loved.
    It was also his prison, he thought as he pulled into a parking space at the building where he lived, a tired-looking apartment complex built in the 1960s. He grabbed his bag, got his mail and took the elevator to the sixteenth floor.
    His building had more good tenants than bad.