“Convenient.” He shuffled through his papers. “Seven men dead. All shot execution-style. Security cameras disabled except the one showing your Harley arriving at 11:47 PM. Then you, stumbling away at 12:30, bleeding.”
“If I killed them, why would I shoot myself?”
Wilson shrugged. “To create reasonable doubt. You only hit muscle. Could’ve been self-inflicted.”
The hospital door opened. A woman in a sharp suit entered, her face stern.
“Special Agent Kent,” she introduced herself. “I’ll be taking over.”
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