Raising the coffee cup to his lips, he was about to take a sip when his phone rang again. He pulled in another frustrated breath when he saw the call was from Frazier Connelly.
“This is Striker,” he said into the phone.
“Striker, this is Frazier. Not sure if you’ve heard, but the authorities got their guy, which means your services are no longer needed.”
Striker shook his head. He’d been afraid Connelly would think that way. “An arrest means nothing, Frazier. Too early.”
“The FBI just ended a news conference. They seem confident they have the right guy.”
Don’t they always? Striker thought angrily. He could clearly recall men he’d befriended while in the slammer, who were innocent. The situation involving Sheppard Granger quickly came to mind. Shep had been locked up for fifteen years for killing his wife, and the real murderers had still been out there killing others.
“I feel confident the FBI knows what they’re talking about, so I’m relieving you of your services and—”
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