The Kill Read Online Free Page A

He felt light-headed, and he didn’t like it one bit. Something was wrong.
    “Hey, Miles, I don’t feel so good.”
    They were standing outside Folsom Prison. Miles Bledsoe, the latest in a long line of public defenders, had been yapping at him about something inane, which Brian ignored. He was good at that. He’d had to ignore the stupid fucks on his cell block yapping all the time, the sisters screwing each other in the dark. Blocking out the bullshit became second nature.
    Miles frowned at him. “You look pale. But it’s probably just relief at being out of prison after thirty-four years. I was saying the state rented you an apartment for six months. Enough time to get you back on track, time to find a job.The standard reimbursement for wrongful imprisonment is $100 a day, which I calculated to be just over $1.2 million. It’ll take six to eight weeks to process the claim, then the Legislature has to approve it before they can disperse funds.”
    “Speak English, college boy.” Brian shook his head, trying to clear the uneasy feeling that clung to him. Everything was too bright, almost like he was detached from his body and watching the exchange with his attorney. He wasn’t sick. It was something . . . else.
    “You’ll get $1.2 million, but it might take some time,” his attorney said.
    “Holy shit.” A million
dollars
? He’d be set for life.
    “The only problem,” Miles continued, “is you did lie to the police when you were arrested, and your truck—”
    “Who cares? I didn’t kill that girl.”
    “But the district attorney can still file charges if—”
    “Look, Miles, just do your job and let me do mine. The D.A. won’t file charges because I’m innocent. I didn’t kill that girl; I didn’t kill anyone. Where’s my pad?”
    Miles blinked, then handed Brian the notebook he held.
    Brian threw it to the ground. “Shit, Miles. My pad. My
apartment
.”
    “Oh.” He blinked again and Brian wanted to bitch-slap him. He didn’t, of course. Miles was his ticket to a million bucks.
    A million bucks would set him up for life and help him find that bitch who put him here.
    And the cop.
    And that old fucking prosecutor who stared at him with such contempt in the courtroom.
This man raped and killed a child
. Bull-fucking-shit. He didn’t touch children like that. Only disgusting, sick perverts got their kicks from kids.
    Payback. A million dollars would go a long way toward payback.
    But somehow, it didn’t seem enough for thirty-four years of his life.
     
     
DNA EVIDENCE FREES CONVICTED MURDERER
Brian Harrison Hall once faced death penalty; now exonerated.
     
    Incredible. Harry was out of prison.
    He’d read the article twice to make sure he had the facts straight. Truth be told, he was surprised Harry had ever been convicted in the first place. The evidence was circumstantial at best. But Harry—being the stupid dumb-shit he was—had lied to the police.
    Served the blowhard right. In his fifty-five years, he’d rarely met a blowhard, lazy-ass jerk like Brian “Harry” Hall.
    “Hey, dude, come to the Bay Area with me and we’ll score.” By “score,” Harry had meant find a couple of women to take two Vietnam vets under their wing. Console them and give them blow jobs whenever they wanted.
    Harry had no comprehension of
women
. Just like he had no understanding of discipline. Cleanliness. Order.
    But Harry did have a job lined up and promised to get him in. So he had joined him in California.
    Neatly, he folded the newspaper along the creases and placed it at the corner of the small, glass-top table in the cottage he’d been renting on Vashon Island for the past year. He didn’t need to look at the clock to know it was time to leave. The sun crested over the Sound, a lush, vivid sight of which he never tired.
    He could retire here.
    But he wouldn’t. Settling would be foolish; moving was the only way to truly cover his tracks.
    He’d be moving again soon.
    For now, he had a job