Page 14 of Quiet Protector
“Then what was it?” I fire back just as snappy.
I stare at her, silently warning her this is heronlychance to come clean. If she continues with her I’ve-been-unfairly-suspended ruse she’s been running the past week, I’ll throw us both under the bus. I kept my searches hidden as much as possible, only scattering the teeniest bit of crumbs in case my plan folded, but I ensured Phillipa’s name was scattered amongst the breadcrumbs with mine.
When my glare becomes too much for Phillipa to bear, she sighs. “Crombie was released early on the agreement he would be an informant for the Bureau. He had proof Castro encouraged Milo to seek revenge on the Greggs for the years he’d spent in prison. Having no idea that the Castros had paid for his participation that night, Milo fell for his ruse. An hour after the Greggs’ accident, Castro requested for Crombie to bring Milo to an old mechanics shop once run by the Gottles. He thought he was there to collect the prize his brother had agreed to give him years earlier. Crombie stated Castro killed Milo before he’d fully exited the passenger seat of his truck. His blood was found in the tracking of the door. When Castro gave proof of his death to Henry, he was awarded a generous number of favors. They’re invaluable to men in Henry’s industry.”
It’s the fight of my life not to nod. The only reason I don’t is because I do not want to give her any indication I’m agreeing with her.
“Crombie’s evidence was credible, Brandon. We had DNA, photographic evidence, and a sworn statement from a witness.”
“Then why didn’t you put Castro away?” I ask, frustrated.
“Because the Bureau wanted more.”
“They always want more,” I shout as if the fucked-up system belongs solely on her shoulders. After a big breather, I ask more calmly, “How did Crombie know where the Greggs lived? Liam kept everything off the radar.”
Phillipa shrugs. “I truly don’t know. That information was never disclosed to me, and anytime I asked, our interviews were cut short.”
I don’t want to believe her, but I do. She isn’t giving off any indication that she’s lying. “What informationwasdisclosed to you?”
She licks her dry lips before replying, “The sting in New Mexico was based on intelligence Crombie gave the head of my unit.” Tears well in her eyes as she stares straight into mine. “I had no clue he was still working with Castro. If I had any inkling of how things would have transpired that night, I would have demanded that the raid be called off immediately, but I was just as blinded by the turn of events as your team was.”
Genuine remorse fills her face, but some things still don’t make sense. “How did Crombie know about the sting? Informants give us times, places, and locations. We don’t share that information with them.”
Anger burns me alive from the inside out when Phillipa scratches the back of her ear. If that isn’t as obvious as a snitch asking to speak to the DA in private, I don’t know what is.
After dropping her hand into her lap, Phillipa says, “Crombie didn’t feel comfortable meeting in public.”
Hearing the words she didn’t speak, I ask, “So you held your meetings in hotel rooms?”
“Yes.” The swiftness of her reply authenticates the honesty of it.
Too curious to hold back, I ask, “Did you sleep with him?”
Phillipa immediately shakes her head. “No. Our relationship wasn’t like that.”
I slant my head and arch my brow. “Relationship?”
She waves her hand around like a professor giving a lecture on ethics. “Studies have proven intimate relationships between undercover agents and their informants are far more beneficial than casual relationships because intimacy involves a deep level of trust.”
“You just said you didn’t sleep with him.”
Her hair slaps her face when her eyes rocket to mine. “I didn’t. I flirted with him. I acted as if I was interested in having sex with him, but I didn’t. I stroked his ego while doing my job! That’s all I did.”
Phillipa sounds honest, but I’m still wary. “Then how did he know about our sting?”
“I don’t know! Even when I was undercover, I never discussed other ops around him. We barely talked, for crying out loud. He was one of those stare-at-you-from-across-the- room guys who thought adjusting his hardened crotch a hundred times a day was a turn-on.” As she sucks in a sharp breath, the rattle of her vocal cords becomes more noticeable. “I had planned to ask him how he knew about the raid when his signature popped up at a warehouse fire in Ravenshoe, but I lost the chance when I discovered him hanging in his cell.”
Although her face reflects her anger, there’s also an immense amount of pain. Crombie’s death isn’t her fault, however, she’s taking the blame for it.
“Do you believe Crombie killed himself?”
Her head shake isn’t as quick as the one she gave me earlier, but it’s still brimming with determined confirmation. “He was apologetic and remorseful, but I didn’t see any indication he was suicidal. Cocky men like him don’t commit suicide.”
My thoughts drift to Joey for the quickest second. It isn’t long enough to dispute Phillipa’s claims that only the depressed end their lives, but it does award me a moment of clarity.
“If Castro killed Milo to garner favors from Henry, why didn’t he wait for him to finish the job before killing him?”
Phillipa wipes her nose with her sleeve before leaning forward to grab her briefcase she dumped on my dining room table before my tour of the perp boards. “I don’t have solid proof, but I’m beginning to suspect Henry is always one step ahead of his competitors because he has access to intel his enemies don’t.” When she pulls out a massive stack of paperwork, my eyes bug out. “You weren’t the only one burning the candle at both ends the past week. My relationship with Crombie deserved scrutiny. It could have been perceived as immoral, but what I’m not okay with is being dumped into IA as punishment and being told to keep my mouth shut. That’s not the way things work. You can’t get answers if—”
