Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” Kapono said. “Because they were racially profiled and harassed until they gave up. They all sold their homes at a loss to get out for peace of mind.”
“And who bought them?” Kai asked, already guessing the answer.
Kapono nodded and pulled up another screen. “Check this out.”
He tapped the screen again—photos, business licenses, shell companies—all tied to names we already had pinned to laundering and front operations for the syndicate we’d been circling for months.
“These spots—barbershops, laundromats, nail bars—they’re opening in the same neighborhoods they emptied out.”
“And the residential ones?” I asked, though I already had a bad feeling.
Kapono’s expression darkened. “Some are rented out to guys who look like your stereotypical muscle—all colors, tats, flashy cars. Ailee had tabs on a few of the rest because they were known meetup spots for escorts. She was still pulling names of clients when she was murdered.”
Judd let out a low whistle. “So they weren’t just profiling, they were clearing space. Creating real estate for the syndicate.”
“Exactly,” Kapono said. “They weren’t cleaning up the neighborhoods. They were repurposing them.”
A quiet settled between us for a beat. Not the good kind. The kind that builds pressure in your chest and makes your jaw clench.
“How many officers are involved?” Judd finally asked.
Kapono blew out a breath. “At least four, two of them with ties to Lynch. The others... I’m still digging. But it’s coordinated. This wasn’t a few bad apples, this was all done with strategy.”
“They clear the families, clear the heat,” I muttered. “Then the syndicate moves in clean.”
“And we’ve got Topper in the middle of it all,” Kai said. “Jesus.”
The dominoes were falling fast now. And from the way they were lined up, it was starting to look like Topper had been building something more significant than any of us realized. And he’d been using the badge to do it.
Judd exhaled through his nose, then straightened up. “We need to tag the ones we know are dirty. Watch where they go and who they talk to. Phones, vehicles, body cams—anything we can get without tipping them off.”
Kapono gave a sharp nod. “Already on it, I did it this morning while you three were out at the scene. They won’t even know they’re being followed.”
Judd looked impressed for half a second, then glanced over at Kai, who’d joined us. “Good, you and Kapono loop in Imogen and Keir quietly. Things are about to get heated.”
Kai muttered a curse under his breath but nodded. “They’ll be in.”
Judd turned to me next. “Might be time to pull the kids from daycare, Roque. At least for a little while.”
I bristled. I knew he was right—hell, I’d thought the same thing more than once—but it still hit like a gut punch. They were finally settling in, finding a rhythm again after being sick. I didn’t want to rip that away from them.
“I don’t want to mess up their routine this early,” I said. “They’ve finally got a place they feel happy in, and I picked that place for a reason. It’s got a full lockdown protocol and a panic room.”
Kai’s eyebrows lifted. “A panic room in a daycare?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Steel doors, independent air and power, reinforced comms. They built it after that attempted abduction last year over in Grafton, and the owners didn’t want to take any chances.”
Kai shook his head. “Sad day when a place that teaches finger painting and potty training needs a panic room.”
“Sadder day if it didn’t have one,” I muttered. “I need you to cross-reference the prints from the knife in Sayla’s tire. See if they match the guy whose DNA was on the envelope.”
Kapono’s eyes narrowed. “Eckhart?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t have prints on him—just the DNA. I happened to come across a coffee cup he left behind at a table a few weeks ago. I took a gamble and ran it, but he was wearing gloves so there aren’t any prints.”
Judd, standing nearby, sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, so, we’re trying to build a case on evidence we can’t legally use. That’s fantastic.”
“Hey,” Kapono protested, holding up a hand. “It gave us a name, didn’t it? Now we just have to work backward.”
“Right,” Judd muttered. “Just means when the time comes to file for a warrant or put cuffs on the guy, we’re gonna need a story that doesn’t include ‘we ran a cup we weren’t supposed to have.’”
Kapono smirked faintly, unfazed. “That won’t be a problem. Trust me.”
Then, he added, more seriously, “Should we go to the DA now and try for a warrant based on what we’ve got so far?”
Judd shook his head. “Not yet, it’s not enough. DNA from an untraceable envelope and a maybe link to a tire slash is smoke, not fire. We need to tie him to something else—visually, physically, digitally—then we move.”