Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“You gonna help me?”
“Absolutely not. This is like your World Series right now.”
“I’m not that much of a nerd.” I start to pick my way through the papers. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, and I start to despair. “This is going to take hours.”
“Great. Wake me up if you need something. Like a gun to end your misery.” He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes.
“Asshole.”
But Angelo’s right. This is like my World Series. It’s a challenge, and while it’s a boring one, at least it’s noble. I start going through each form, looking for that damn interview, and I marvel at the sheer amount of stuff the cops are trying to hide. Dozens of reports, evidence lists, ballistics, coroner stuff, all of it shoved down here in the records department and hidden away in boxes and plastered over with these fake-as-hell forms to cover up their tracks. I wonder if anyone’s ever bothered to look through this stuff before. Probably not. I bet only cops even know it exists.
Finally, after I’m starting to think Misty lied to me, I come across a bundle of pages that look familiar and my heart starts to race. Right there on the front is Wally’s name, followed by Detective Vance, followed by her handwritten signature.
“Wake up,” I whisper harshly.
Angelo cracks one eye open. “Got it?”
I grin at him and wave the pages in the air. “Got it.”
Together, we photograph everything. When that’s done, I email it all back to myself, just to make sure I can’t lose it. “Let’s get out of here.” I start jamming pages back into the box.
But there’s a noise out in the hall. Voices, whispering urgently to each other. I pause, straining to hear, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Angelo looks unhappy as he climbs to his feet, and one voice raises, getting loud and closer.
Janet sounds distressed. Poor Janet. “I’m sorry, Detective, but this is very unusual, you can’t just—”
The door rips open and there he is.
Detective Vance’s partner.
John himself.
Angelo jumps to his feet. John looks from me to the box and back to me again and I can see the rage in his eyes. His fingers twitch like he’s reaching for his gun, but Janet appears at his side, looking furious, her matronly face yanked into a frown.
“This is a breach of protocol, Detective,” she says harshly. “I will be reporting it to your superior.”
“Fuck off, you decrepit paper-pushing harpy, or I’ll break your fucking nose,” he growls at her.
Janet looks affronted and scurries away.
“How’d you find us?” Angelo asks, slowly putting himself between me and the detective.
“Don’t worry about that.” John stares at Angelo and a grin breaks across his face. “I thought you learned your lesson. I’m impressed you’re walking around right now. You in the mood for another dance?”
“I’ll remind you that we’re in police headquarters right now, Detective,” I say sharply as terror rings down my spine.
“I’d love another go,” Angelo says softly. “This time, keep the gun holstered. Make it a fair fight.”
“Boys,” I say loudly. “Enough.”
Detective John slowly looks at me. “You made a mistake coming here. I don’t know how the fuck you heard about these papers, but you shouldn’t have come sniffing through our dirty laundry.”
“I’m not interested in all the bodies you’re trying to bury, Detective. All I want is the truth about my case. Who killed those cartel men, Detective? You know, don’t you? Or maybe you don’t and all you’re doing is following orders. Either way, Nicolas Cavallo is innocent, and I intend on proving it.”
Detective John’s sneer drips with scorn. “I don’t know why you care about scum like him. Maybe he didn’t do those murders, but you think your boy’s got clean hands? They’re all the same, him and this one, all a bunch of fucking worthless assholes.”
“You’re right, Detective,” Angelo snarls. “We’ve all got dirty hands. Let me show you mine.”
“Angelo.” I grab his arm and dig my fingers into his muscle. “Stop provoking him.”
There’s a thick, tense moment. Detective John stands there, staring at Angelo with a rough grin, and Angelo’s glaring back like he’s about to start a fight right here in the freaking police headquarters. This is basically my worst nightmare, mostly because Angelo’s too hurt to do much more than get himself killed, and I’m not going to be much use in an actual altercation.
“Here’s the deal,” Detective John says, his voice a soft rasp. “Because that pushy fucking archives bitch is hovering around and watching my every move, I’m not going to kill either of you. But I am going to warn you one last time. That makes three, which is more than most people get. You keep this up, someone’s going to die, and I can promise it’s not going to be me.”