Page 91 of Dead Air
The question echoed against stone walls. Lawson remained silent.
"Your partner was a federal agent." Byrd's voice carried smug satisfaction. "Recruited by Richardson. She died working for the Bureau, not Savannah PD. They discarded her when operations became complicated."
"Shut up," Lawson muttered.
"You loved her, didn't you?" Byrd's words slithered through darkness. "Office romance against department policy. Kept it hidden while she investigated you and your colleagues."
"She wasn't investigating me."
"She investigated everyone, Detective. Her own partner included. Her lover. All potential suspects in the corruption network she mapped for her federal handlers."
Richardson placed a restraining hand on Lawson's arm. "She's baiting you. Trying to force movement she can target."
Another shot cracked through the tunnel. Five down. Three remaining.
"Richardson knows the truth," Byrd continued. "He recruited Monica. Managed her informant activities. Directed her investigation toward specific targets."
"Including you," Richardson called back.
"Including everyone expendable to your operation." Byrd's laugh echoed against stone. "I discovered her identity three weeks before she died. Confronted her with evidence of her betrayal."
"You ordered her execution," Lawson said, unable to stay silent.
"I authorized appropriate response to an operational threat." The distinction carried Byrd's judicial precision even now. "Her investigation jeopardized controlled criminal management systems that maintained public safety."
The emergency lights flickered briefly. Battery power diminishing.
"We need to move," Richardson whispered. "The lights will fail soon."
"Giving up position advantage," Lawson countered.
"She's stalling for time. Her boat's waiting. If she reaches the river, federal coverage becomes complicated by jurisdiction and water routes."
Lawson weighed options. Advancing meant exposure. Waiting meant Byrd's potential escape.
"I'll draw fire," Richardson said. "You advance under cover."
Before she could object, he darted across the tunnel. A sixth shot rang out. Richardson grunted, staggering against the opposite wall. Blood darkened his sleeve where the bullet had struck.
Lawson surged forward, using Richardson's distraction to close half the distance to Byrd. The emergency lights illuminated the judge's silhouette thirty feet ahead, weapon raised for her final shots.
"Drop the gun!" Lawson shouted. "Last chance, Byrd."
The judge fired her seventh shot. The bullet grazed Lawson's thigh, tearing fabric and skin in a burning line. She returned fire immediately. Two shots in rapid succession. The first missed. The second struck Byrd's shoulder, spinning her backward.
The emergency lights flickered again, then died completely. Darkness consumed the tunnel. Lawson activated her phone's flashlight, sweeping the beam ahead. Blood droplets marked Byrd's retreat, disappearing around a corner.
"Richardson?" Lawson called.
"Still breathing." His voice sounded strained. "Arm wound. Through and through. Keep moving. Don't lose her."
Lawson advanced carefully, following the blood trail. The tunnel opened into a larger chamber with brick arches supporting the ceiling. Ancient wooden crates lined the walls, remnants from Prohibition storage. A metal ladder rose through a shaft in the ceiling at the chamber's center.
Byrd stood beside the ladder, one hand pressed against her wounded shoulder. Blood soaked her expensive suit jacket, dripping onto the stone floor. Her weapon dangled uselessly in her other hand.
"End of the line," Lawson said, training her weapon on the judge's chest.
Byrd smiled without warmth. "The beginning of your education, Detective."
