Chapter 1204: Funeral Gunfire

Since he’d had some alcohol, Jack ordered an Uber when he left, even though a single healing spell would’ve been enough to cleanse any trace of alcohol from his body. Still, he didn’t want to set a bad example for his friends by driving drunk.

“…That’s pretty much how it went. The four of them decided to keep the truth hidden. As far as the public’s concerned, all they need to know is that Captain Roy Montgomery died heroically in the line of duty.”

Inside the antique-filled study, after listening to Jack’s full account, Frank Reagan’s expression darkened and brightened several times before he finally let out a long sigh.

“Kidnapping and extorting gang members… yeah, I remember hearing something about that back around the millennium,” said the retired commissioner, Henry Reagan, as he slowly got up and pulled a bottle of Scotch from a cabinet, pouring himself a small glass.

This elderly man nearing 80 was actually Jack’s main reason for coming tonight. As one of the earliest members of the now-defunct “Blue Templar” police fraternity, Jack hoped he could provide some insight into the mysterious figure behind everything.

“You’re saying that the person who knew about what Lagrange and McAllister did had the power to send them to prison, but instead chose to take a cut of the money?” Henry asked thoughtfully.

Seeing the old man’s contemplative look, Jack straightened from his relaxed posture on the couch and leaned forward. “You’ve figured out who it is?”

But to his disappointment, Henry slowly shook his head. “Of course not. In fact, by that time, not just me—even Frank had already left the Blue Templar. Like I told you before, the group had already gone rotten by then.”

He added firmly, “But I can tell you this much: that guy was definitely not one of them—not even NYPD.”

Jack thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. The Blue Templar had been a secretive brotherhood within NYPD, but if someone from within had blackmailed Lagrange and McAllister, they wouldn’t have been so terrified.

“But we can reasonably assume that the man was somewhere inside the judicial system, even if not in law enforcement directly. And he must have already held some amount of influence,” Frank Reagan said gravely.

“What about that Kate Beckett’s safety?” Henry asked hesitantly, glancing at his son.

“No need to worry—she’s under my protection for now,” Jack replied, waving off the drink Henry offered him. He’d had enough already.

That was actually his second reason for coming tonight. Earlier, when he’d joked about suspending Beckett and the others, it hadn’t been entirely false. Jack hoped Frank could find an official excuse to put the three officers on administrative leave for a while.

Whatever Montgomery had put in place before his death—whatever agreement or leverage that had allowed him to promise Beckett would be safe as long as she stopped digging—Jack wasn’t about to trust it. With the killer’s ruthlessness already proven, he figured it was best to err on the side of caution.

Two professional assassins had already shown up—what’s to say there wouldn’t be a third or even a fourth?

Though Frank Reagan clearly wasn’t thrilled about how Montgomery had handled things, he ultimately said nothing more—accepting the outcome without protest. After all, the man was dead, and even Beckett—the person most wronged—had chosen to let it go. There was no sense dragging NYPD’s name through the mud over a scandal from two decades ago.

When Jack returned to the safe house, he found four thoroughly drunk Americans passed out cold.

The plum-infused liquor had been mixed with rock sugar, its sweet flavor masking the bite of the baijiu. After adding some ice, the result was a dangerously deceptive drink. Jack had done it on purpose—letting them all get completely smashed. Drowning your sorrows might not solve anything, but a night of heavy drinking could at least relieve some tension.

The next morning, Jack knocked on each of the upstairs bedroom doors. One of them erupted with surprised shouts from a man and woman inside.

“You’ve got ten minutes to brush your teeth, wash your faces, and get downstairs for breakfast. It’s at least a forty-minute drive to the cemetery. The four of you are pallbearers—you really want to be late to the funeral?”

Jack wasn’t the least bit surprised to find those two in the same bed. When he came back last night, Castle had been the only one still semi-conscious, and Jack had asked him to help Beckett upstairs. The two had collapsed onto the bed the moment they got inside, and Jack had quietly closed the door behind them.

After informing the three NYPD officers that they’d each been granted two weeks of administrative leave, Jack served them four bowls of hot and sour soup to help sober them up.

The tangy, spicy broth was great for clearing the effects of a hangover. As for the headaches, aspirin would have to do.
———
Rat-a-tat-tat… rat-a-tat-tat…

To the sound of military drums, Beckett—dressed in her dark blue police uniform and wide-brimmed hat—walked at the front left, carrying Roy Montgomery’s casket.

The other pallbearers were Esposito, Kevin, two officers from the 12th Precinct, and a sunglasses-wearing Castle.

The six of them carried the casket down an aisle of saluting police officers. Representing Commissioner Frank Reagan were Danny and his younger brother Jamie, both standing at attention with solemn expressions.

As the person closest to the deceased—practically family—Beckett was the first to give a eulogy.

“Roy Montgomery taught me what it means to be a cop. He taught me that we are bound by our choices. We will make countless mistakes, but for us, there is no final victory… only an endless fight.”

Standing in the crowd, Jack’s brow furrowed. Ever since entering the cemetery, he’d felt a faint sense of being watched—like a hair-thin needle pricking at his back. The sensation wasn’t strong, and it wasn’t directed at him, but it was there.

He released his senses fully, adopting the mindset of a sniper, scanning outward from near to far in search of the source of that malicious intent.

Having already experienced a cemetery ambush once before, Jack focused his attention on the maze of tombstones—100 meters… 150… 200…

Meanwhile, Beckett continued her eulogy on stage.

“…And the most important thing for us is to find the right side to stand on. And if you’re lucky enough, you’ll find people willing to fight by your side.”

As she said this, her eyes met Castle’s. But just then, the hairs on Jack’s neck stood on end. A glint—barely visible—flashed in the sunlight: the telltale reflection of a sniper scope.

Without thinking, Jack drew his pistol and fired three shots into the air.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“SNIPER! GET DOWN!”

CRACK! A bullet obliterated the microphone on the podium. Beckett was tackled to the ground by Castle, both of them hitting the grass hard as her wide-brimmed hat rolled off. Chaos erupted all around.