The Betrayed by David Hosp

corpse, “I may also have overestimated you.”
    He put the pistol in his pocket and moved forward, rifling through the dead man’s clothing, removing his wallet and checking to see if there was anything else that might be used to identify the body. Then he rolled King’s body off the edge of the path, over a small ledge and into the thick bushes, making sure it couldn’t be seen by a casual observer wandering down the path. With luck, it might be weeks before the remains were discovered. Indeed, he wasn’t too far from the spot where a young intern’s body had evaded hundreds of police and National Guardsmen following her affair with a prominent congressman. And even once the body was found, there was nothing to tie King to Salvage—or his client—and there was little need for worry.
    Satisfied with his evening’s work, he took a quick look around. “No loose ends,” he said to himself. Then he picked up the suitcase and headed out of the park.

Chapter Eigh t
    T HE PHONE STARTLED C ASSIAN out of a deep sleep, and he reached over to grab the receiver off the bedside table. “What?” he grunted.
    “Rise and shine, partner, we got work to do.” Jack recog nized Train’s voice, and he rubbed his eyes, glancing over toward the clock. Seven-thirty. He’d overslept.
    “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Gimme twenty minutes.”
    “I’ll be there in ten.” The line went dead and Cassian let his arm fall over his eyes, stretching against the fatigue. He took a deep breath, feeling his chest expand, bringing him to life. He rolled his legs off the bed and sat up, looking around his bedroom. He lived in a two-bedroom off Dupont Circle—nicer than the places most cops could afford, but then Cassian was still single, and the revenue from a modest trust fund his parents had established for him and his brother augmented his salary. He was lucky in that respect; while his family had never been wealthy in the manner of the Chapins, he’d been left with enough money to choose a career based more on his interests than his income. He’d wandered for a few years after college, working at a random series of jobs that included everything from carpenter to assistant curator at an art museum. He hadn’t joined the force until his mid-twenties, but in spite of the difficulties, he’d never second-guessed his decision. It was the least he could do for Jimmy.
    Thinking about his brother wouldn’t help him through the day, though, and he stood up and headed to the shower. Train wouldn’t be happy to be kept waiting.
    Eleven minutes later, Cassian walked out the front door of his apartment. Train sat in the obese unmarked Crown Victoria, double-parked on the narrow street, leaving just enough room for other cars to get around him. He turned his wrist and tapped his watch, looking back up and shaking his head at his younger partner. Jack shrugged and walked around the car, climbing into the passenger seat.
    “Just getting up, are we?”
    “That’s right,” Jack admitted. “Some of us worked into the early morning.”
    “On?”
    “Research,” Jack said. “I thought it might be interesting to know a little bit more about the Chapins. They’re even bigger than I thought.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m sorry to say that you probably could have gone to bed early and gotten a good night’s sleep, for all your poking around is likely to get us in the end.”
    “How so?”
    “I talked to Deter first thing this morning. We got a clean print off the pocket torch we found in Elizabeth Creay’s apartment, and it came up cherries on the computer.”
    “Really?” Jack thought of the hours he’d spent the night before doing research. He almost felt disappointed. “Anyone we know?” he asked.
    “Yep,” Train answered. He raised his eyebrows as he looked over at his partner. “Jerome Washington.”
    “Jerome Washington?” Jack groaned. “Our Jerome Washington?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Shit, I thought he was still locked