Page 86 of Dead Air
"No more games, Elizabeth." Richardson called back through the door. "The federal agents have everything. Your operation ends tonight."
A sharp crack split the air as the lock mechanism gave way. The door swung open, revealing Judge Elizabeth Byrd flanked by two men in tactical gear.
"Detective Lawson. Mr. Richardson. Ms. Blackwell." Her gaze swept the room, cataloging positions and tactical advantages. "This ends now."
chapter
thirty-two
Judge Elizabeth Byrdstepped into the pool house with measured confidence. Her tailored suit remained immaculate despite the late hour. Gray hair pulled into a perfect chignon. The same commanding presence she projected from the bench now filled the converted surveillance center.
The two men flanking her moved with military bearing. Tactical gear. Professional weapons handling. Eyes that swept the room, cataloging threats and escape routes before settling into overwatch positions. Their faces carried the blank expressions of soldiers who followed orders without question.
"Detective Lawson." Byrd's gaze found each person in turn. "Lieutenant Parks. Ms. Blackwell." Her attention lingered on Richardson. "Tom."
Richardson kept his weapon lowered but ready. "Elizabeth."
"Thirty years we've worked together. Through three police chiefs. Five district attorneys. Countless reforms and reorganizations." Byrd moved deeper into the room, apparently unconcerned by the firearms trained in her direction. "I'd hoped our partnership could continue."
"Partnership." Lawson shifted position, maintaining cover behind the equipment rack while supporting Blackwell'sunsteady frame. The journalist's weight pressed against her shoulder, muscles still fighting sedative aftereffects. "You mean your criminal empire."
"I mean efficient administration of justice. This city's crime rate dropped forty percent during my tenure as chief judge. Drug trafficking decreased. Gang violence diminished. Public safety improved."
The surveillance monitors continued their silent vigil, displaying empty streets and vacant buildings across Savannah. Digital proof of the order Byrd claimed to maintain through corruption.
Parks stepped forward, weapon trained on the nearest tactical officer. His voice carried cold recognition. "You killed Bram Kowalski."
Byrd's expression flickered—the first crack in her judicial composure. "Detective Kowalski exceeded his operational parameters. Much like Detective Landry."
"He was investigating evidence tampering. Found your network's fingerprints all over major drug cases. You had him murdered to protect your operation." Parks' grip tightened on his weapon, three years of suppressed rage threatening to surface. "Made it look like a drunk driving accident."
"Detective Kowalski was troubled. Personal problems led to self-destructive behavior. Tragic but hardly uncommon among law enforcement personnel." Byrd's legal training provided smooth deflection despite the accusation's accuracy.
"Bram didn't drink. You know that. I know that. Everyone who worked with him knew that." Parks took another step forward, professional control warring with personal fury. "But alcohol appeared in his blood anyway. Convenient how evidence works when you control the system."
Lawson watched Parks process the confirmation of his partner's murder. The same cold rage she'd carried for fiveyears now reflected in his expression. Two cops united by the systematic elimination of their partners.
"You've been cleaning house for years," Parks continued, voice gaining strength. "Any cop who got too close to your protection racket ended up dead or transferred. Bram documented the pattern before you killed him."
"Detective Parks, your emotional investment in this matter compromises your judgment. Professional detachment serves justice better than personal vendetta." Byrd's judicial tone remained steady despite the mounting accusations.
"Justice?" Parks laughed without humor. "You perverted everything law enforcement represents. Turned the courts into a protection service for criminals who could afford your fees."
"By managing chaos." Byrd gestured toward the screens with judicial precision. "Random enforcement creates random results. Systematic oversight produces systematic improvement. Thomas Hutchinson's clients operated within defined parameters. Limited territorial boundaries. Restricted product distribution. Controlled violence levels. Their cooperation ensured predictable criminal activity that law enforcement could manage effectively."
Richardson moved closer to the monitoring station, his weapon tracking Byrd's movements. "Tell them about Monica."
Byrd's composure cracked slightly. Professional mask slipping to reveal something colder beneath. "Detective Landry exceeded her operational boundaries."
"She was federal." Richardson's statement cut through the tension. "FBI informant. Recruited three years before her death."
Lawson's grip on Blackwell tightened involuntarily as pieces reshuffled in her mind. Monica's meticulous documentation. Her systematic evidence gathering. The careful investigation techniques that had impressed veteran detectives.
"You knew?" Parks directed the question toward Richardson, his voice carrying disbelief and growing understanding.
"I recruited her." Richardson's weapon remained trained on Byrd while he spoke. "The Bureau needed inside access to investigate judicial corruption. Monica volunteered."
"Jesus." Lawson's voice emerged as barely a whisper. "Monica was working undercover the entire time."
