“I think the best next move is to retrace Abraham’s steps as much as we can in those last few days. If that video wasn’t in his house or on his person, then he must have hidden it somewhere where he figured it would be safe. Noah, you may be the key here. You might be the only one old enough and clearheaded enough to remember anything.” Canning’s brow furrows deeply. “Silas said you saw him the day he died. Did he say anything strange to you? Anything at all?”
“No, sir . . .” I shake my head, picking through my brain. It’s all a foggy recollection, though. Hell, I was only eleven. “He came by to talk to my mom, out back, but I didn’t hear them. And then he asked me if I wanted to go to a Spurs game with him that weekend. That was it.”
“Hmm. After fourteen years, we might have to assume that video was lost.” He shakes his head. “But enough about the nitty-gritty details for now. I wanted you both here today so I could personally tell you how sorry I am. And I won’t let it go unpunished.”
“I appreciate that.” Gracie offers him a smile.
One of the children starts crying, having tumbled off the slide.
“Excuse me for a sec.” Canning eases himself out of his chair and leaves the veranda. Just a loving grandfather, checking on his grandchildren.
Gracie’s hopeful eyes watching his every move.
In less than a minute, all three are climbing again, their childish laughter carrying in the warm breeze.
* * *
“Hang back here, just a second, son.” Canning throws a small wave toward Gracie, who’s a few steps ahead, her hands full of leftover biscuits and casserole, courtesy of Dolores. “Hope you don’t mind—I need to borrow Noah. We’ll be in touch soon, though, ya hear?”
With a smile and a nod, Gracie keeps going, heading toward the lake beside the driveway, where the early afternoon sun beats down and those massive sheepdogs laze.
“Do good by that girl, Noah. She’s had it rough.”
“Yes, sir. She sure has.”
“I don’t have a lot of hope for how this case will turn out, but if we can at least give Abraham the clean name he deserves, it should make her and Dina happy, don’t you think?”
“It’s definitely a start. Especially if we can get Dina the help she needs.” True to Silas’s word, I’ve already received a phone call from Desert Oaks, notifying me that Dina’s rehab has been covered for the next two months. I know Judy and Silas have been smart with their money, but that has to have set them back.
“You need to help her move on, so this doesn’t fester.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Good. I’m glad she has you.” He drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Help her focus on her future, not the past.”
My head bobs up and down.
“Best to just let sleeping dogs lie. They’re less likely to bite.”
The hairs on the back of my neck spike. “Pardon me?”
He frowns with confusion.
“What you just said . . .”
“?‘Let sleeping dogs lie’?” He chuckles. “Oh, that’s just an expression. You never heard it?”
“Yeah. I have. It’s just . . . not in a bit,” I force myself to finish, my mouth going dry.
“Well, it’s nothing you young folk ever say.”
“No, sir. It’s not.” “He always liked that saying, every time I pushed him. Every time I told him they were up to no good.”
A curious look flashes in Canning’s eyes and I force a smile. “I’m gonna take Gracie home now. Try to get her mind off things.”
He raises his brows. “I’ll bet. Y’all keep in touch. And come straight to me if you remember anything about Abraham, about that visit he paid. Anything at all.”
“Sure thing.” I feel his gaze on my back as I walk, pacing my steps so I don’t seem in a rush. Meanwhile, my mind races with understanding.
Gracie sees me coming and, with one last pat for the dogs, heads for the SUV. “Not that we need more food, but that was nice of Dolores, to pack this care package for us,” she murmurs, opening the paper bag and inhaling deeply.
Cranking my engine, I tap my horn as we pull out, making sure my wave and smile are as big as possible.
Gracie follows suit. “I feel guilty for ever letting Kristian convince me that—”
“Canning knew.” My voice wobbles.
“What? He just told you that?”
“Not intentionally.”
Let sleeping dogs lie.
My mom knew Mantis was corrupt. She must have brought it up with Canning and Canning must have told her to leave it alone, to stay quiet. Let his “hounds” be. Let them keep busting drug dealers for the city, even if it meant they might be pocketing money on the side while doing it.
Let them be, or they might retaliate.
Like they did with Abe.
My teeth gnash against each other. “That son of a bitch knew that Mantis was corrupt, all along.”
CHAPTER 47
Commander Jackie Marshall
April 30, 2003
Canning waves me in, pointing a weathered hand toward a chair, a receiver pressed against his ear.
He still has the silver-framed picture of Wyatt Canning at his police academy graduation sitting on his desk. I feel a twinge of sadness in my gut, looking into those honest, baby-blue eyes. Wyatt was a good guy. What happened to him was plain tragic. Worse is the fact that it’s gone unsolved. Not even Canning’s prized hounds have been able to unearth so much as a rumor, after all these years.
“I want to know how the hell that scumbag made it back out onto the streets. He’s a drug dealer!” Canning’s face is turning beet red as he chews someone out. The man’s going to give himself a heart attack if he doesn’t learn how to contain his frustration. “I won’t let my department get dragged through the gutter because you couldn’t make this stick, Ross. That little girl? Her death is on you, and I’ll make sure every last voter knows it. I can’t wait to see the back of your head. Thank God Reid has the balls to do what needs to be done.”
It’s not hard to piece together what’s going on here. Canning’s tearing a new one into our current DA, Dylan Ross. He’s had it with Ross and thinks my brother will be just what the department, and the city, needs.
Let’s hope the election goes our way.
Canning slams down the phone. “God dammit!”
“The drive-by in MLK?”
“That little girl was five years old! Just sittin’ in her kitchen, eatin’ her cornflakes—” He inhales sharply. “That scumbag should have been behind bars, not allowed to drive around, shootin’ up neighborhoods, killin’ kids right in front of their mothers.” He heaves a sigh, releasing his anger. “What’s goin’ on, Jackie?”
I hesitate.
“Is it about that thing from the other night? Because you know you did right by—”
“No. I’m not here to talk about that.” I want to forget that night ever happened.
He frowns. “Then what? Is it your son?”
“No, Noah’s great.”
“Then what is it? Ashley said it was urgent.”
How the hell do I bring this up? I guess I just come out and say it. “Mantis was seen taking a bag of cash from that Lucky Nine motel bust.”
“What?”
“Mantis was seen—”
“I heard ya.” Canning’s face remains frozen for a long moment as he processes this. “Who saw him?”
“Abe Wilkes, sir. He was at the motel, searching for his sister-in-law.” I give him a knowing look.
Canning leans back in his chair, scowling at the door. A shadow shifts past it. Canning’s assistant, no doubt. “He must be mistaken about what he saw.”
“He’s not mistaken.” Lowering my voice, I tell Canning everything. By the time I’m done, he looks ready for that heart attack.
“It’s probably better for everyone involved that you get IA involved right away. If Abe comes forward with this—”
“IA?” Canning’s frown deepens. “No one’s going to IA about this.”
“But—”
“Think of the big picture, here, Jackie. Think of what will happen if this gets out.”
“Yes, sir. I’m certainly afraid of that.” All the goodwill we work hard to build in the community? It’ll all be undone, buried under a thick layer of public distrust, thanks to one dirty cop.
“If this story leaks, this drug dealer will be back out on the street, catering to gangbangers who shoot up houses with little girls and boys in them. Why would we risk that? Over some cash?”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“Sometimes we have to do things that don’t sit well with our conscience, because it’s for the greater good.”
“I’m well aware of that, as you know, sir.” I give him a pointed look.