Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Yes, I want it,” I answer. Then I give the detective instructions on how to return it to me at the front desk of where I work.
Once I hang up the phone I let my mind go back to Ryan just for a second and wonder what he’s doing. Then I push the thought away and get myself together before I sneak out of the museum and back to work. Time to go archive.
Chapter Two
Ryan
I end the call and run my hands through my hair in frustration. I reach over and open my top side drawer and pull out the bottle of bourbon I have hidden in the back. I pour myself a drink, not caring what time it is, and think about the voice echoing in my ears.
Naomi Parsons.
The two blurry photos I have of her don’t do the sound of her soft sighs and gentle laugh justice. She sounds like she’s innocent and sweet, which I’ve never met before. How can the sound of someone I’ve never met drive me this crazy? It could be the case, but I wasn’t nearly this worked up before speaking to her. Now all I want to do is think of a reason to call her back. She made it clear she was done talking to me, but she can’t shake me that easily.
Just then, an intern steps into my office.
“Holy shit, Ryan, it’s nine a.m. Also, where did you get that? And also, can I have some?” He bombards me with questions, and I shake my head. He’s already a little reporter, and he’s already getting on my nerves, too.
“I know what time it is. Never mind how I got it. And no, you may not.” I answer all his questions hoping there won’t be another.
“Aw come on, bro.”
“You win a prize and maybe one day you’ll get your own desk. Then you can generate income for the publisher and you can have a bottle of whiskey for breakfast while your boss looks the other way,” I tell him with a hard look.
I’m being cranky and I know it. But that call with Naomi has twisted me in a knot. I toss back a shot of bourbon. Then I screw the lid back on and shove it in my desk. I need to stay sharp, but that was enough to take the edge off.
“I was just stopping by to give you this fax that came through,” he says, handing over a piece of paper.
The only source that sends faxes is law enforcement. When I glance down the page, I see that sure enough it’s from the detective who’s investigating Brad’s death. It’s a press release informing me that the police have located the female and she has been “handled.” It does not say she was arrested, tried or imprisoned. Nor does it say whether she was shot on sight or killed after the fact.
I read it over one more time and I’m not buying it. Unless they produce a mugshot or a body, I won’t believe they have the girl, or anyone else, in custody. I toss the paper aside and pick up my phone again, speed-dialing the detective directly.
“Sharp, I just faxed you.”
“I got it. Can you send me a mugshot?” I ask casually. “I want to run it with the story.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Our department didn’t handle her, it was higher up on the food chain than me. You’ll have to get with the Clean Up Crew on that.”
The Clean Up Crew is a euphemism for the group of men who swoop in and take jurisdiction over certain criminal cases. They make them all but disappear from the public eye.
“You know as well as I do that those guys aren’t going to say shit,” I reply. The detective isn’t a bad guy, but he’s playing dumb about this.
He huffs. “Look, it’s out of my hands, they just gave me the press release to give to you. There’s nothing else to do now but wait for the family to plan the funeral.”
I’m not sure if the detective meant to be flippant, but the comment makes me bristle either way. I ask a couple more questions, but he shuts me down and eventually hangs up on me.
I guess I’m just pissing people off left and right today.
My mind goes back to Naomi and how she’d been on a blind date with Brad just minutes before his death. I believed her when she said she didn’t have much to tell, but I want to talk to her in person. It’s harder for a source to lie to my face. I’m telling myself this to try and pretend that it’s not really an excuse to go see her. To hear that heavenly voice and watch it drip off her lips. I’ll have to be in control, though, and tread lightly. Especially considering who her father is.