Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
It’s obvious he’s fighting to say the right thing before he shrugs. “I think your dad is lost. When we got together last week, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. He was manic and so sure he had finally found the missing piece he’d been searching for. Supposedly, he found the original autopsy report that said your mother died from a gunshot wound to the head.”
It feels like all the puzzle pieces are aligning. Possibly my father was telling the truth, after all. “That's what he told me too. Do you think it's possible?”
“Between you and me, kid, there isn't a department in this country that doesn't have at least one bad cop in it. It’s just the kind of thing he's talking about... It's conspiracy-level stuff, and truthfully, I can't imagine that. I mean, what he's describing would take a lot of coordination—a huge cover-up. Falsifying autopsies, destroying evidence. It would be much bigger than some cop being paid under the table.”
“How can he be so sure of it and claim he found the original autopsy, then?”
Ken lifts a questioning brow. “He says he did—but I haven't seen it. Have you?”
“No.” The buzzing from my phone—again—makes me want to scream. My hand trembles as I run it through my hair and hope my head doesn’t explode from all this information. “I really don't know what to think. You’re telling me he lost his job, and somehow he’s gone all hours of the day and night. I don't know how to help him or even what to believe. I can only imagine the trouble he will get himself into trying to solve this case.”
“I know. I want to help him, too. There’s no insight to give him when he insists on pushing his conspiracy theories. My hands are tied as it is. He doesn’t have many friends around here anymore, and he made enemies of the friends he did have when he started throwing around accusations of cover-ups and dirty cops.”
“Oh, God, no.” Someone will need to give me a shovel to get out of the hole he’s dug. “I’m so sorry. I know it isn’t my job to apologize, but I feel like I have to.”
“I understand. I’ve felt the need to apologize more than once, myself.” He stands, sighing heavily, and I also take that as my cue to stand. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you about him losing his job. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“No, you’ve been plenty of help, believe me. Without this visit, I’d think he still has a job.” And now, I want to go through his finances to make sure he has the money to support himself and keep the house. Jesus, now I’m back to parenting my parent.
As if you ever stopped.
“Don’t, you know, tell him I told you.” He winces, looking sheepish. “I know how that sounds, but your dad can be a little over the top, and while he hasn’t been himself, he’s still a brother to me.”
“No worries, that would mean admitting I came here in the first place, and he would lose his mind if he found that out.” Impulsively, I give him another hug, and it reminds me of everything Dad could’ve been if he hadn’t unraveled. A detective, who the others look up to, somebody who hasn’t wrecked his professional reputation.
“Take care of him, kiddo,” he murmurs, patting me on the back. “Please take care of yourself, too. Don’t get too wrapped up in this. You’ve got your own life to live.” He pulls back and holds me by the shoulders, his lips broadening into a smile. “And remember, no matter what, he’s always been so very proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I don’t say anything else as he shows me to the door again. I can’t speak. I can barely walk. I’m too busy concentrating on holding back tears. I have to find a way to get through to him. There has to be a way to help him get his life back on track. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to watch him slide into poverty all because he couldn’t tell fiction from reality.
As I walk the long hallway, I pick up on the curious gazes of more cops. It’s not difficult to imagine them having secrets. Resenting me for being here, if they even know who I am. I wonder if it’s possible Ken could be wrong?
Could one of them have covered up what happened to my mom? I don’t know. Nonetheless, the more questions I unearth, the more answers I lack. A part of me also wonders if I, too, am beginning to unravel at the seams?
CALLUM
“Now, everybody knows,” Romero announces.
Yes, I have no doubt Romero’s right. The men I employ are tough as nails, although that doesn't mean they won't gossip like a bunch of women when given the opportunity. They only need a pitcher of mimosas, and you'd think they were at brunch.