Page 94 of Dead Air
“Was it you, then? That broke into my apartment and stole the only reminders I had of Monica?”
“Set up on Byrd’s orders. I imagine when they do a sweep of her house, they’ll be entered into evidence and you can request to have it returned to you.”
The heart monitor's rhythm accelerated again. A nurse appeared in the doorway, checking readings with professional concern.
"His heart rate's elevating. He needs rest." Her tone allowed no argument.
"Two more minutes," Richardson rasped. "Critical case information."
The nurse frowned but retreated to the hallway, leaving the door partially open.
Richardson turned back to Lawson, voice dropping to ensure privacy. "The safety deposit box should have what you need to see this through. Monica's original evidence that started everything."
"Everything I needed to solve her murder five years ago." Bitterness edged her words.
"Yes." No excuse offered. No justification attempted. Just acknowledgment of the damage done.
"Did Byrd know you were a double agent?"
Richardson looked pensive. "Maybe she had her suspicions, but even if she did, neither of us could expose the other without self-destruction." Richardson's mouth twisted into a pained grimace.
The monitoring equipment registered deteriorating vital signs. Richardson's breathing grew more labored with each exchange. The confession extracted a physical cost that accumulated with each revelation.
"Drummond still works for the Bureau. Washington field office. Decorated career built on operations I helped execute." Richardson grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. "He sacrificed Monica for career preservation. Then built promotions on her grave."
"I'll find him."
"Careful. He has resources. Protection from senior Bureau leadership." Richardson released her arm, strength fading visibly. "The recording provides leverage. Use it carefully."
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Richardson's wife entered, face drawn with exhaustion and fear. Her eyes registered Lawson's presence with momentary confusion before focusing on her husband's deteriorating condition.
"Tom." Amy moved to his bedside, taking his hand.
"I was just leaving," Lawson said, standing up.
Richardson's gaze held Lawson's for a final moment. "Remember what I said about the deposit box."
She nodded and turned to walk out. She paused at the doorway, turning back toward the man who had killed her partner and then spent years protecting her from the consequences of that action.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Any of it?"
"All of it," Richardson choked out.
Amy stroked his forehead. "You should go now, Detective."
Lawson stepped into the hallway, mind reeling with revelations that transformed everything she thought she understood about Monica's death. The mentor who recruited her for an FBI operation. The killer who executed her when she threatened operational timelines. The true betrayal ran deeper than anything she'd imagined during five years of investigation.
Richardson's monitors keened in alarm as she walked away. Medical personnel rushed toward his room with emergency equipment. The confession had cost him whatever strength remained.
chapter
thirty-six
Lawson grippedthe steering wheel a little tighter as the bank's marble facade loomed ahead, morning sunlight glinting off its glass doors like a promise of cold finality. She'd barely slept after last night's hospital vigil, the echo of Richardson's rasping confession still clawing at the edges of her mind. Claire sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through her phone with that lawyer's focus, but her silence felt heavier than usual.
"You gonna tell me what's eating at you, or do I have to guess?" Lawson asked, pulling into the visitor lot and killing the engine.
Claire set her phone down, exhaling slowly. "Hospital called while you were in the shower this morning. Richardson passed at 4:17 a.m. Internal bleeding—they couldn't stabilize him."
