Page 65 of Nightshade

“This is a chickenshit case. Just book him and I’ll eventually make my way to him.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I want you to drop the violation and lose the warrant.”

“Now, why would I do that—what did you say your name was?”

“Stilwell. I need you to drop it because Forbes is an important witness in a case I’m working.”

“Really, now. What case?”

Stilwell had hoped he wouldn’t ask that. He had to have high stakes to convince Willingham to drop the warrant. Telling him it was a theft investigation wouldn’t cut it. Stilwell needed more gravity than that, but he knew if he mentioned the murder, he would be creating one more witness to his crossing the lines of authority.

“It’s a homicide,” Stilwell said. “And I need Forbes clean when he testifies. I don’t want him on the stand wearing Wayside blues. You understand, Rodney?”

Wayside was the former name of the Pitchess Detention Center, and Stilwell used it to signal to Willingham that he had been around the system for a long time and knew that the probation officer could do what he wanted him to do.

“I understand,” Willingham said. “It says here he stopped coming in to piss and skipped out on his rehab sessions. This mofo’s a regular douchebag.”

“I know all of that. He told me. But this was on a bust for something that’s not even illegal anymore. It’s chickenshit. You said it; you know it. So can you do me a solid on it or not?”

“Oh, yeah, I can do you a solid. The question is, what are you going to do for me?”

Stilwell shook his head. It seemed that everybody wanted something from him.

“I don’t know you, Rodney. What do you want?”

“Tell you what, I’m gonna keep this number—this your cell?”

“Yes, it’s my cell.”

“Then I’m gonna keep your number and call you next time I need a pickup, and I don’t want you to shine me on like you all like to do over there at the sheriff’s. I’ll say I got a guy needs to be tossed back into county and you have to help me go get him. That’s when you say, ‘I’m on it, Rodney.’”

Willingham had no idea that Stilwell was posted on Catalina, twenty-two miles from the mainland and even farther from the sheriff’s homicide bureau. Willingham was thinking a downtown deputy would owe him a favor.

“I can do that,” Stilwell said. “Deal.”

“All right, then, we good,” Willingham said. “We good.”

“So I can let Forbes walk?”

“You can set him free.”

“Beautiful. Thank you.”

“Have a good one. And remember, I’m going to call you.”

“Anytime.”

Stilwell disconnected the call. He unlocked his desk drawer and removed his sidearm. He holstered the weapon and got up to release Forbes. But the desk phone buzzed on his direct line and the readout saidSHERIFF’S HOMICIDE. He sat back down and took the call.

“Stillborn,” he heard.

“A-Hole,” he said. “What do you want?”

“What I want is to take your badge, and this time I think I’ve got it.”

“You haven’t got shit, Ahearn. Why don’t you try to work on the case instead of on me?”

“I am working the case, and guess who I just talked to?”

---