Death of a Bankster by David Bishop

and I’ve cutback my sideburns. Linda, who pretty much stayed behind me, has removed the color rinse she had on her hair and she had quickly puffed her jawline before we headed for the house. We’ve burned all the clothes we wore that night.”
    “Solid work.”
    “What about the body? Do we want to control the timing of their finding Crawford’s body?”
    “I’ll take care of that from here. You two shut it down.”
    “Okay, Captain. We’ll get on home.”
    “Good. You’ve got your stories straight about what you did in Phoenix during your short sightseeing vacation and all that?”
    “Yes sir. All square with brochures and ticket stubs from the places we visited, all in our luggage. The hotel room and rental car don’t need to be sanitized. We’re playing it as we were here and we used both of them.”
    “This was Linda’s first assignment. Does she have any pangs of conscience or whatever?”
    “No. She understands why you’re doing what you’re doing. She was shook when Crawford was shot. That shocked us both frankly, completely unexpected. But no, she handled it like a veteran. Then again, after that episode with you last year she is a veteran. You plan to solve the Crawford murder?”
    “That’s not my assignment. However, if the local cops solve it, depending on who the killer was, that might affect my assignment. I’ll need to monitor the situation and be ready to improvise and step in if necessary. This surveillance should have been clean and quiet. The unexpected murder turned it into a swamp with overlapping authorities.”
    “If you need me, I’m a phone call away.”
    “Remember, you’re a local cop yourself, so you can’t always be leaving that to come work with me.”
    “If you need me, I’m a phone call away.”
    “Thanks, Gene. Oops, I still can’t get used to calling you Clark. You were Gene too long. Okay, be sure your buddy’s van is sanitized.”
    “We took care of that yesterday. No traces can be found.”
    “Okay. Thanks, ah, Clark, got it right that time.” The two men laughed. “Seriously, I couldn’t have done it without you. Before you board that plane smash that untraceable cell phone and scatter the parts over several miles in the desert.”
    “Wilco, Captain. Take care.”
    “Hug Linda for me. I still need to get up that way for a visit.”
    “Anytime, Captain. You’re always welcome.”
    With that, Ryan Testler hung up the phone.
    * * *
    Maddie got home in time to play a little catch with her eleven-year-old son, Bradley. His fastball was getting a bit tougher to catch, but she figured she could handle it for a few more years. After dinner, while Bradley did his homework and played some video games, Maddie cleaned the kitchen along with her mother. Rita had lived with them since Maddie’s divorce from Bradley’s father, Curtis, and the death of her own husband, Maddie’s father, who had also been a cop.
    When her father died, her parents had been married for fifty years, a record Maddie had hoped she and Curtis would break, but they had fallen far short. Maddie and her mother had been good for each other during those tough years. She couldn’t imagine how it would be raising Bradley alone, a single parent, without her mother’s help.
    After cleaning the kitchen, Maddie joined Bradley in something they shared many nights, reading ten pages each from one of the Hardy Boys mysteries. Rita had given Bradley the series for a past Christmas. Bradley was more than able to read them alone, but it had been a ritual they had shared for several years, a ritual Maddie wanted to continue as long as Bradley was comfortable with it. The joint readings gave them a way to look forward to quality time together, while allowing Maddie the opportunity to occasionally talk with her son about whatever was on his mind. Sometimes, the stories also gave her an opening to explain a little about her own job.
    After Bradley went to sleep, Maddie planned to fix some popcorn and