- - - -
Witness:
L.A. was beginning to stir when Ian drove down the street of the Eppes family home and walked towards the address. Don had mentioned he had an apartment, so Charlie must live there with his father. The craftsman house seemed unnaturally inviting.
Ian thought about testing the security and sneaking in, but if attempts had been made on Charlie's life, he didn't want to be accidentally shot by Don. He knocked on the front door instead.
He was greeted with a drawn gun.
"Interesting welcome."
"Edgerton,' Don hoisted his pistol. 'I'm surprised you agreed to do this."
"So am I," Ian crossed his arms. "Can I come in?"
Don stepped aside and allowed the sniper to pass. He was steered into a living room that was certainly being lived in. Used mugs hid themselves on tables, shelves, under papers and atop books. Papers formed a second carpet. Colby slept on the couch, shoes off, socks on, gun still in his holster.
In the middle of the zone sat Charlie.
"Professor," Ian greeted.
"Edgerton!" Charlie scrambled to stand.
"Where?" Colby jerked awake.
"Colby, go make coffee," Don ordered. "We'll bring Edgerton up to speed."
Colby took a well-worn route to the kitchen while Ian sat himself on the couch, Charlie dropped himself onto a chair and Don remained standing.
"So which case went bad?" Ian said.
"None," Don answered. "Charlie wasn't on one."
"Then what was he doing?"
"I was just biking home," Charlie spoke up. "I heard screams so I rode towards them. I..."
"Charlie?" Don moved closer to his brother. "If you don't-"
"I'm alright, Don. Really," Charlie smiled in reassurance. "I saw him stab her. I shouted, he saw me and ran."
"You intentionally drew a murderer's attention?"
"The odds were in my favour," Charlie defended. Ian raised an eyebrow.
"The man is Zeke Matthews," Don picked two pictures off the floor and handed it to Ian. "The woman was Tracy Jones, his secretary."
"He was having an affair, broke it off, and she threatened to tell the wife?" Ian guessed, taking the photos. Tracy was a petite woman with a delicate smile and hazel hair, young enough to have just finished college. Zeke appeared a decade older, black hair sleeked back, eyes of blue glaring at the man behind the camera taking his arrest photo.
"Yes."
"Bail?"
"800,000, he didn't post. He has the money, but we suspect he's putting it to use elsewhere." Don handed him another photo. Ian committed the faces to memory. Both were in their late 30's, the male having a thin face, sand-coloured hair that parted to the side and narrow brown eyes. The woman's hair was as red as a fire truck. The man was tall, around 6", but she stood eye-to-eye with him. Large blue eyes mismatched her small lips.
"Trevor and Melanie Andrews. Irish. Formerly of the IRA, now in Cuba training drug-runners how to evade us." Don said. "Part-time contract killers."
"Married guns-for-hire, reminds me of a movie I saw on cable." Ian placed all four photos in a pile.
"Coffee's up!" Colby called from the kitchen. "There's no mugs left in here."
"Grab a mug and move to the coffee," Don ordered. The sniper and professor followed orders.
- - - -
-groan- information dump. Still, sooner the board is set, the sooner the games can begin.
Desert Thief
