“Logic. Gracie’s mom tells the cops about this video and then suddenly a guy—who she thinks is a cop—comes looking for it. That makes me think someone working on the case tipped him off. And if this guy came to look for it—”
“The police didn’t find it on the computer.” I finally catch on to Jenson’s thinking. “It had to be an external file. A memory stick or something. Wait, did they even have memory sticks fourteen years ago?”
“Good question. I honestly don’t know how people survived back then, without all—”
“Why wouldn’t they have found this memory stick—or whatever—when they searched the house?” Gracie, always quick to poke holes in theories, interrupts.
“Because it wasn’t in the house,” Jenson says, simply. “Abe must have known how valuable it was. Maybe he’d already been threatened. You need to find this video.”
“No problem. Just find a video that my dad hid fourteen years ago,” Gracie mutters sarcastically.
“He must have given it to someone he trusted.”
“He didn’t give it to my mom,” Gracie says. “And he and Jackie were at odds, so it’s not likely he gave it to her.”
“I didn’t find anything that even remotely resembles a video file in the safe, or in that floor compartment,” I add. “So, who’s left?”
Jenson shrugs. And then he says, almost as an afterthought, “Not that a video of cops lifting money would be any good now, anyway.”
Gracie glares at him. “Why the hell not?”
“The statute of limitations would have run out years ago. But it could prove motive to something bigger,” Jenson quickly adds, looking ready to hold up his hands in surrender against her scathing look.
“Like what?”
“Like motive for murder. And there’s no statute of limitations on that.”
Jenson’s right, as usual. That doesn’t bring me much comfort, though. We’ll probably have better luck finding Betsy than we will this video.
Could she be somehow tied to it?
So many questions.
But talking to Jenson has helped. “Thanks, man.”
His phone chirps. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Candace needs a ride to school.”
“Little sister?” Gracie asks.
“Girlfriend. She’s in her first year at UT.”
“He likes ’em young.” I smirk, taking a bite of my sandwich.
“I’m not the only one from the looks of it,” Jenson throws back, not missing a beat. “You know, we should all go out while you’re in town. I think you’d like her.”
“Like a double date? How fun!” Gracie exclaims with a wide, fake grin. She hauls herself up, the bubbly fa?ade vanishing. “We should get going. I’ll get Cyclops.”
“We can’t bring a dog to the DA’s office.”
“We’ll leave him in your car. It’s cool enough.”
“So he can finish destroying the leather? No, we’re leaving him in the yard.”
“Fine,” she mutters, marching inside.
I snatch the ball from Jenson’s hands and dribble for the net.
He’s on his feet and stealing it off me without effort, mainly because I let him. He dekes and edges around me, sinking the ball. “So, when are you gonna put the moves on the firecracker?”
“Kind of busy trying to solve a cover-up and murder at the moment.” But that’s Jenson—always looking for a way to get laid, no matter the situation.
“Right . . .” Jenson begins strutting around me with folded, flapping arms, making chicken sounds.
CHAPTER 31
Officer Abraham Wilkes
April 24, 2003
“Better luck next time!” Mantis hollers from the door of the men’s changing room, grinning widely as he strolls in. “Not a bad game, Wilkes.” He raises his hand to deliver a fist-bump.
Normally I’d respond by reminding him how many points I scored, which is always triple what he earned, at minimum. Today, I stay quiet, hesitating a few beats before finally meeting his knuckles.
If he notices my reluctance, he doesn’t let on.
I bide my time, waiting until the last two guys are gone, leaving us alone in the room. “Saw the news on the big bust.”
“Fucking awesome haul, right?” He yanks off his jersey. The guy is a human tank—stocky legs and a thick pad of muscle around his torso, impossible to knock down. “We got a good tip.”
“Strange, though, that you didn’t find money, isn’t it? Where there’s drugs, there’s cash, I thought.”
Mantis rifles through his locker for a few beats. “He was moving his stash and decided he needed to get a little action on the way. What can I say—the guy’s as dumb as a prairie dog.”
“So, he didn’t have a duffel bag of money in his trunk?”
That sloped forehead of his looks all the more menacing as a deep frown forms across it. “What are you gettin’ at, Wilkes?”
“Just that I was at the Lucky Nine motel that night.”
He snorts, then rubs his nostrils furiously. The word is he’s broken it so many times, his sense of smell doesn’t work. That’s the only excuse anyone can come up with for how much cheap cologne he doses himself with every day. “What, Dina not giving you enough at home?”
I bite my tongue against the urge to cuss him out for mentioning my wife’s name. “I was looking for someone. But that’s beside the point. I was there, sittin’ in my car and watchin’ the whole show go down. Surprised you didn’t notice me.”
Mantis throws a towel around his waist to cover his nakedness. “Then you know that guy is right where he deserves to be.”
“And the money? Is that right where it deserves to be?” Under your mattress?
He chuckles softly, but there’s an edge to the sound. “You’re mistaken. There was no cash in the trunk.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
“Good luck proving that.”
Cocky bastard. I grab my backpack and march out before I do something I’ll regret, like hit the guy.
I have my answer.
CHAPTER 32
Noah
“That last hair I was nurturing?” Rolans points to his shiny, bald head. “Gone, since you left us. But don’t worry, we’ve got a shit-ton of mind-numbing work, piling up for you. Best of three on who gets him first.” He’s poised for a round of rock-paper-scissors with Maxwell, standing next to him.
Despite my purpose for being here, I can’t help but chuckle. When Silas first suggested I apply for a job at the DA’s office, I figured it’d be all stiff lawyers and miserable government workers who hate their lives and their jobs. It’s far from that. These two may be pushing their midforties, but they act like a couple of frat boys.
It does feel comforting to be here. Even my cramped cubicle doesn’t look so mundane. Someone has tidied it and set a Twix candy bar by my keyboard. Cory, my manager, likely. She knows I love them.
If only I could sit down in my chair and go back to the way things were.
“I’m actually not here to work.”
Maxwell is subdued as he shakes my hand, the guarded look on his face telling me he remembers why I’ve been gone in the first place. “You just missed Silas. He left for court five minutes ago.” His gaze settles on Gracie, forcing me to make quick introductions.
“Actually, Maxwell, I’m here to talk to you, too.”
“Me?” He looks genuinely surprised.
I swallow against my growing anxiety. How exactly is the right way to bring this up? “Yes, sir. It’s about a—”
“Forget something?” Rolans’s voice booms, cutting me off. I turn to find Silas making his way toward us, his limp more noticeable than usual, his face looking gaunt.
“A file.” Silas’s gray eyes—lined with deep, dark bags—are locked on me. “Noah . . . you’re back.”
“Yes, sir. I got home late last night.”
His gaze shifts behind me and my stomach instantly tightens. “Silas, this is Gracie. I mean, Grace.”
“I had a feeling it was . . .” He holds out a weathered hand. “Goodness, you have grown a lot since I saw you last.”
“It’s definitely been a while,” Gracie says warily, and I know she’s picking through her memories, trying to place him as she accepts the greeting.
“I hope my nephew is showing you around town?”
“If the DA’s office counts as sightseeing?”
“Knowing him, it probably does.” Silas chuckles. To anyone else, it sounds normal. But I can hear the strain. “Noah, can I see you in my office for a moment?”
“But, I thought you had court—”