Dead End Deal Read Online Free

on pews hard as granite, during which he played head games instead of listening to how he was destined to eternal hell fire unless he put his faith in Jesus. Two months into senior year at Chickasaw High Carrie fainted. The principal pulled Fisher out of class to accompany her to the hospital while the school officials tried to locate their parents. Holding her clammy hand in his, the aid car siren screaming, she’d made him swear to never tell their parents of her abortion. She died from septic shock twelve hours later.
    Although he kept her secret, he learned it was performed by a poorly trained midwife in the kitchen of her home because the only clinic in a fifty-mile radius capable of providing clean abortions had been shut down six months earlier by hard-line pro-lifers. The way Fisher saw it, the pro-lifers, not the midwife, were the ones who killed Carrie. When the Avengers case came up, he volunteered for the task force.
    He had no problem with either pro-lifers or pro-choicers. Everyone was entitled to their own beliefs. But no one was entitled to ignore due legal process in favor of enforcing their own ideals.
    Helms asked the officer at the computer, “What’ve you got for us, Diane?”
    She clicked the mouse. “Caught the whole thing. Here, watch.” She scooted sideways in the rolling chair to give Helms a straight-on view. “I’ll start from the beginning.”
    They huddled around the monitor that showed a grainy wide-angle image of the tunnel entrance and immediate surroundings. She scrolled the time bar at the bottom, found the minute she wanted, hit the pause button, “Here’s where it begins,” then clicked play.
    In jerky sequence, a man, probably Jon Ritter, entered the field, walking toward the camera. He stopped suddenly. A second man appeared from the opposite direction, his face and hair distorted by something. The masked man aimed a gun aimed at Ritter. Helms muttered, “That’s panty hose, don’t you think?”
    Lange said, “Looks like.”
    The first man turned slightly, giving more facial definition. Fisher said, “That’s Ritter.”
    “Sorry about the jerkiness. Runs at only three frames per second,” Helms said.
    A moment later Lippmann stepped from the tunnel into the garage. Ritter turned around, appeared to yell and wave him away, but without audio the scene was eerily silent.
    The officer froze the scene, said, “Okay, now watch the left side of the screen. All you’re going to see is what looks like a hand with a gun.” A mouse click and the action resumed.
    From the left of the screen came a blur of motion, then Lippmann jerked and went down. Ritter seemed to yell and start forward, but the first gunman slammed him in the temple with the butt of the weapon and Ritter went down. The first assailant exchanged words with the second one before both ran from view.
    “See that? Guy’s left handed,” Fisher said. Then to the officer: “Can you run it again?”
    After they’d seen it twice more, Fisher asked Lange, “What about the note?”
    Lange scratched his chin. “Yeah, they left it on the windshield of Ritter’s car. But this one’s different.”
    Fisher said, “How so?”
    “Didn’t claim responsibility. Just gave Ritter an ultimatum. Said if he doesn’t stop work they’ll kill him and Dobbs.”
    Helms seemed puzzled. “Mind explaining that?”
    Fisher nodded. “Dobbs is Ritter’s partner; they work together on research. The thing that bothers me more is the other Avenger assassinations have been so different, so much more methodical. This entire garage thing is too damn sloppy.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t add up.”
    Fisher asked Lange, “You check out Lippmann to see if he has anything to do with anything?”
    Lange shook his head. “You’re kidding, right? I haven’t had time to take a leak. Speaking of which . . . ”
    Fisher was looking at the monitor again, the frozen frame of the second assailant shooting Lippmann. The images could be