Free Gamma Blade by Tim Stevens Page A

could about the events of the evening. The row of men standing on the pier, watching the yacht. The stranger over to the left, who’d dropped after the guy had hit him. The chase down the alleyway, and the man who’d gotten the drop on Venn from behind.
    He described everything he could recall about that guy. His voice, his turn of phrase. The sound of his sneakers on the ground.
    Estrada took it all in without comment or interruption. When Venn was finished, she watched him for a couple of seconds.
    Then she turned her head to Beth.
    “Dr Colby,” she said. “Your turn.”
    While Beth relayed her account of events, Venn studied Estrada. She looked tough. The kind of cop who’d bitten and clawed her way up the ranks, not by screwing people over, necessarily, but in the course of battling an establishment that was even more macho down here in Miami than it was in New York or Chicago, and was arrayed against her every step of the way. She’d more than likely cut a few corners along the way, bent a few rules. Kicked one or two scumbags’ asses without worrying too much about respecting the letter of due process.
    Venn thought she was the kind of cop he’d enjoy working with. And the kind he wouldn’t especially want as an enemy.
    Beth finished her account. Estrada hadn’t made notes, just as she hadn’t when Venn was speaking. Venn wondered if she was recording all of this - it was illegal to do so without informing the interviewees of the fact, but that didn’t mean Estrada wasn’t doing it - or if she simply had strong powers of recall.
    She slapped the desk top, leaned back once more.
    “Okay.” Her glance flicked to Venn, then Beth, then back to Venn, where it stayed. “I need to talk to you, Lieutenant. Doctor, this doesn’t concern you. You can go. And thank you for your cooperation.”
    “Hold on.” Venn wasn’t having that. “Beth and I are together, as you know. She was there too.”
    “Venn.” Beth stood up, gave him a quick smile. “It’s okay. Cop stuff. I’ll head on back to the hotel. Get a cab.”
    He looked at her, then at Estrada.
    “Really,” said Beth. To Estrada: “Is this going to take long?”
    “As long as it takes.” Estrada’s tone wasn’t hostile, just factual.
    “Okay.” Beth gave Venn’s shoulder a squeeze. “Wake me up if I’m asleep, yes?”
    And she was gone.
    It was as if somebody had pressed Estrada’s ‘on’ switch. As soon as the door was closed, she leaned forward, her face more animated.
    “Here’s the deal. I have an idea who the asshole that hit you was. I need you to listen to some voice recordings, see if they match up to his voice.”
    “Sure,” Venn said.
    Estrada had put her leather shoulder bag on the floor beside her when she sat down. She reached into it and took out an iPad. Placed it on the desk between them, touched the screen.
    A male voice issued forth, tinny and scratchy. The guy was speaking English, with a thick Spanish accent. Venn shook his head.
    Estrada held up a hand. “No. Don’t tell me yet. Listen to them all. There are six of them. I’ll play them back afterward, if necessary.”
    The clips played, one after another, some lasting ten seconds, others closer to thirty. They were of variable sound quality. Two of the men spoke only Spanish.
    After the last one, Venn said: “Play them again.”
    Estrada did so.
    Venn didn’t need to listen a third time.
    He said, “The third one. That’s him.”

Chapter 11
    Estrada said, “You sure?”
    “Maybe eighty per cent. Eighty-five. Couldn’t swear to it in court.”
    “You couldn’t. Our DAs would never rely on testimony based on this kind of evidence.” Estrada stared at the iPad between them. She chewed her lips. Venn thought she looked buzzed, as if he’d given the answer she was hoping for.
    He said, “So who is this guy?”
    She raised her eyes. “Ernesto Justice Brull. He’s a local gangbanger. Head of his own crew. Been around five, six years, maybe.