a smile on his face. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm a bit distracted."
"When have you ever found hospital paperwork more interesting than a homicide investigation?"
"This isn't hospital paperwork," Mark said. "Stryker sent me all this yesterday. It was waiting on my front porch when I got home tonight. These files are probably what the person who set the fire to Stryker's office was hoping to find or destroy."
"So what makes you think Stryker is dead?"
"He told me," Mark said, holding up the handwritten letter. Steve took it from his father and read it.
Dr. Sloan,
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
The odds are that whoever killed me can be found in these files. Somebody decided to gamble that I was bluffing when I told him that if anything ever happened to me, all the dirt I had on him would go public.
He was wrong and I'm dead. Life is cruel.
You're getting all the major-league stuff because I'm betting that's where the hit came from. All the petty domestic crap, the evidence against the adulterers and small-time embezzlers, has gone directly to the losers being betrayed or ripped off. I doubt any of those "civilians" had the guts or the means to kill me, but just in case, there's a list of them in here somewhere, too.
Before I met you, this box of explosives was supposed to go to various members of the press. I was always uncomfortable with the idea of sending my files to one man, newspaper or TV station. Reporters can be easily bought or intimidated, and the media are controlled by multinational corporations, who are cowards.
But you, Marc are the one guy I ever met who couldn't be bought or intimidated by anybody. I looked for dirt on you and I was never able to find any, which means you're either the most honorable man on earth or one of the cleverest.
Either way, I win. Except for the fact that I'm dead, which is lousy.
I know you thought I was a sleazebag, and that what you'll find in this box will only confirm your opinion, but I'm certain you won't stop until you find the sonofabitch who killed me.
You can't help yourself That's the one secret of yours I was able to find out.
Make the bastard pay, okay? And tell him I'm working on my tan in hell, waiting for him to show up.
Nick Stryker
Steve handed the letter back to his father. "Where's the box all of these files came in?"
Mark motioned to the kitchen. Steve went over and examined the box. He noted the law firm's return address and double-checked the date of the postmark.
"Do you know the law firm?" Mark asked.
Steve nodded and came back to the table. "They're criminal defense attorneys for the crook on a budget."
"We'll have to ask them when Stryker was murdered and how they knew about it," Mark said. "But at least we know from the postmark that it was a day before his office was torched."
"That doesn't mean the corpse Amanda's got on a slab isn't Stryker," Steve said and then explained to his father about the body that was found in the burned-out trash bin.
"He could have been killed a few days ago. Whoever did it could have tossed the body in the Dumpster last night and torched it with the building."
"I suppose it's possible," Mark said. "We'll know in the morning."
Steve gave his father a look.
"What?" Mark asked.
"Nothing. It's just going to be a big morning, that's all," Steve said. "So what have you gathered from all these files?"
"I know why Monette Hobbes got those photos today and not a year ago," Mark said.
"So do I," Steve said. "Stryker knew all about Lowell's affair with his stepdaughter and was blackmailing him to keep quiet about it."
"Stryker had no professional ethics whatsoever," Mark said.
"You're just discovering this?"
"I thought at the very least he was loyal to his paying clients," Mark said. "Clearly I was wrong."
"He was loyal to whoever could pay him the most," Steve said, "whether it was the client or the person he was following."
"I'm assuming Lowell paid Stryker not to tell Monette about his affair with
"When have you ever found hospital paperwork more interesting than a homicide investigation?"
"This isn't hospital paperwork," Mark said. "Stryker sent me all this yesterday. It was waiting on my front porch when I got home tonight. These files are probably what the person who set the fire to Stryker's office was hoping to find or destroy."
"So what makes you think Stryker is dead?"
"He told me," Mark said, holding up the handwritten letter. Steve took it from his father and read it.
Dr. Sloan,
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
The odds are that whoever killed me can be found in these files. Somebody decided to gamble that I was bluffing when I told him that if anything ever happened to me, all the dirt I had on him would go public.
He was wrong and I'm dead. Life is cruel.
You're getting all the major-league stuff because I'm betting that's where the hit came from. All the petty domestic crap, the evidence against the adulterers and small-time embezzlers, has gone directly to the losers being betrayed or ripped off. I doubt any of those "civilians" had the guts or the means to kill me, but just in case, there's a list of them in here somewhere, too.
Before I met you, this box of explosives was supposed to go to various members of the press. I was always uncomfortable with the idea of sending my files to one man, newspaper or TV station. Reporters can be easily bought or intimidated, and the media are controlled by multinational corporations, who are cowards.
But you, Marc are the one guy I ever met who couldn't be bought or intimidated by anybody. I looked for dirt on you and I was never able to find any, which means you're either the most honorable man on earth or one of the cleverest.
Either way, I win. Except for the fact that I'm dead, which is lousy.
I know you thought I was a sleazebag, and that what you'll find in this box will only confirm your opinion, but I'm certain you won't stop until you find the sonofabitch who killed me.
You can't help yourself That's the one secret of yours I was able to find out.
Make the bastard pay, okay? And tell him I'm working on my tan in hell, waiting for him to show up.
Nick Stryker
Steve handed the letter back to his father. "Where's the box all of these files came in?"
Mark motioned to the kitchen. Steve went over and examined the box. He noted the law firm's return address and double-checked the date of the postmark.
"Do you know the law firm?" Mark asked.
Steve nodded and came back to the table. "They're criminal defense attorneys for the crook on a budget."
"We'll have to ask them when Stryker was murdered and how they knew about it," Mark said. "But at least we know from the postmark that it was a day before his office was torched."
"That doesn't mean the corpse Amanda's got on a slab isn't Stryker," Steve said and then explained to his father about the body that was found in the burned-out trash bin.
"He could have been killed a few days ago. Whoever did it could have tossed the body in the Dumpster last night and torched it with the building."
"I suppose it's possible," Mark said. "We'll know in the morning."
Steve gave his father a look.
"What?" Mark asked.
"Nothing. It's just going to be a big morning, that's all," Steve said. "So what have you gathered from all these files?"
"I know why Monette Hobbes got those photos today and not a year ago," Mark said.
"So do I," Steve said. "Stryker knew all about Lowell's affair with his stepdaughter and was blackmailing him to keep quiet about it."
"Stryker had no professional ethics whatsoever," Mark said.
"You're just discovering this?"
"I thought at the very least he was loyal to his paying clients," Mark said. "Clearly I was wrong."
"He was loyal to whoever could pay him the most," Steve said, "whether it was the client or the person he was following."
"I'm assuming Lowell paid Stryker not to tell Monette about his affair with
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