Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
She took it to the report, inspecting it closely in a variety of places, and her face got red again.
She tossed the magnifying glass on the report testily and stated, “That signature has been traced. You’d have to get an expert’s opinion, but there’s a carefulness to it that isn’t mine and looking closely at it, you can see the outline of my signature underneath. In fact, there’s a carefulness to all the writing. Also, you can see some Wite-Out marks. Someone emptied a copy of another report with Wite-Out, forged this one and traced my signature over the top.”
“Can I?” Harry asked.
She flung an irritable hand to the file in front of her. Harry gave the one he had to Rus and grabbed theirs and the magnifying glass.
Again, he leaned to the side so Rus could follow with him.
The base form was over-copied in the first place.
But with the glass it was easy to see small breaks in lines and ghosts of impressions of words that were there before, which the naked eye wouldn’t see or would identify as a smudge or a bad copy of the original form.
“Son of a bitch,” Rus muttered.
Harry yanked out his phone and made a call.
“You got me,” Polly answered.
“Polly, send two deputies to sit on Roy Farrell’s place. Inconspicuous. I don’t want them made, and Roy might be able to make them. The minute he comes home or there’s any sign of life in his house, they go in and get him. I want him at the station as soon as we can find his ass.”
“You got it,” she said.
“Polly,” he called before she hung up.
“Yeah, Harry?”
“Also put a BOLO out on that asshole.”
“You got that too.”
“And while we’re ratcheting shit up, I want regular drive-bys, day and night, at the Dietrichs’ home and office.”
“Got that as well.”
She hesitated, and when Harry said no more, she hung up.
Harry shoved his phone back in his pocket and returned to Theresa.
“Can we have a copy of the actual report?” he gritted.
“My freaking pleasure,” she stated, rising from her chair.
He handed it to her, and she stormed out.
Harry turned to Rus. “I don’t think Dern knew about this. This was Roy.”
“This was Roy,” Rus agreed. “Roy taking advantage of a chief officer who didn’t pay dick attention.”
“At the same time punting it to him so if anyone asked questions, Dern was the investigator on record.”
“Threw his buddy right under the bus.”
Harry wanted to find some pleasure in the fact that one of Dern’s loyal soldiers set him up like that, but he couldn’t.
Because now he also had a seven-year-old murder on his hands, and he had to find some way to break it to Muggsy Ballard’s mother that his department had wholly failed her and her son in the sense that there was an active cover-up of his murder which no one had noticed until now.
“Shit,” Harry muttered.
“Yeah,” Rus sighed. “Fuckin’ shit.”
TWENTY-TWO
Time Portal
Harry
Rus dropped him at home so Harry could leave his cruiser at the station and drive his truck to Lillian’s.
Rus was then going to his place to get the dogs and bring them back into town.
Harry had told him he didn’t have to drive all the way out to Bonner Mountain and back in when Harry could fetch his pups, but Rus insisted.
“With all this shit swirling, your time is gonna be limited, and whatever free time you got, you need for Lillian. I can bring the dogs in, and then Maddie and I can have dinner at the Double D.”
He and Lillian were both getting an education on the loyalty they’d earned, and Harry was grateful for it.
Now, he’d packed heavy, had enough dog food in his truck to last weeks, the dogs had their own go bag of rawhides and toys, but before he took off for Lillian’s, he hit go on a number he hadn’t touched in years.
Dern didn’t answer, it went to voicemail.
Not a surprise when he would’ve seen Harry’s name come up on his screen.
But Harry didn’t hesitate to leave a message.
“Weird how Roy Farrell developed a migraine to take him home from work today, then he didn’t actually go home. But just so you know, we discovered the ME’s report on Clifford Ballard was falsified. Theresa ruled it a homicide, not a suicide. You’re the investigator on record, Leland. You signed off on a doctored file. Farrell fucked you. He positioned you real good, then he fucked you hard. Good for you that you’d take your boys’ backs, but they’re leaving you swinging. Think on that.”
He ended the call, and carrying the last bag from his house, the one with his pups’ water and food bowls, Harry headed out to his truck.
He was halfway back to town when his dash told him he had a call from Jesse.