Hit and run. And a shooting. Man killed in residential neighborhood. Well known to police as Payme...
Lund's hands crumpled the paper with such a force he shook like he was having a seizure.
"Are you all right, dear?"
Not bothering to respond to his wife, who'd come home much earlier than he'd hoped from her sister's, he got up from the table and headed up the stairs to his office. He locked the door behind him before making his way to his desk. He flopped into his leather chair. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down across his cheeks. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, as he clenched his hands into fists. They'll never be able to connect him to me.
Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out a key that, when not hanging around his neck, was locked in the safe in his bathroom his wife didn't know about. He leaned down and inserted the key into the second drawer of his desk, unlocking it. The soft clicking sound usually gave him a little thrill, a sense of being in control. After all, he did have information on people, who, if they even thought of trying to bring him down, would go down as well. Today though, that feeling didn't come. Carefully pulling open the drawer he removed the few books that were there for looks only and touched the back corner of the false bottom. It popped up. He leaned forward to check that the only copy of all that he'd done, all that he knew, was safely in its hiding place.
It wasn't there.
A pain shot through his chest lightning quick but with the force of a Mac truck. His hand, still resting on the key, jerked back hard, flinging the key across the room. He clutched at his rib cage, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, as he tried to catch his breath. Tremors shook his body as he slumped forward, slamming the drawer closed.