Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
I didn’t dare handle all the other contraband I found,” Leslie says.
Feels like a large-gauge bit drilling through my frontal lobe now. I need Advil—coffee at the least. I don’t ask her, though. I pull the blanket off my legs and straighten myself up on the sofa. I notice my socks. I wore the black ones with yellow polka dots. Happy socks. I feel embarrassed.
“Will you let me explain?”
“Sure. Why not? Is it going to be a good story?”
“It’s all related to the case I’ve been working.”
“The blood on your clothing, the weed—oh, and the nearly half a kilo of cocaine? I know I’m just a defense attorney now, but I used to be a cop like you, so I remember what coke looks and smells like.”
“You said you were going to let me explain.”
Her lips tighten. She backs up and sits on the armchair to my left. She lifts her hands, palms up, like Let’s go.
I bow my head for a second but realize that’s what guilty people do, so I look up at her directly.
“I’m sorry I lied, but I have been looking into my cousin’s homicide and burglary at my house.”
She’s giving me that look you get from defense attorneys when you’re on the stand and they don’t believe a word you’re saying.
“Actually, Frankie? I don’t want to hear this. I can’t—”
“I got a possible suspect for the burglary, maybe even Jeffrey’s homicide, and was able to identify one of the fencing locations where the burglar went to trade stolen property for narcotics, and so, you know, I…I went there.”
“What do you mean, ‘went there’? And why wouldn’t you take that information to the police?”
“C’mon, Leslie. Do you really want to know that?”
“Did you hurt them? Wait—what am I thinking? Don’t tell me. In fact I don’t want to hear any more about this.”
“I didn’t kill anybody, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say with all optimism. “That’s what matters, right? I just wasn’t thinking straight. Jeffrey, dead in my kitchen. I got information that you might be in danger. I got emotional. I took their shit is all and got in a little fight with one of them. I’m gonna turn it over to Hurley. Face the consequences.” I was telling the truth until then. Why’d I have to go there?
“Emotional? Took their shit? And why would I be in danger unless you put me there?”
“I need to clear my head, then I can explain better.”
“You burglarized someone’s house. Like some vigilante. Are you kidding me?”
“It’s not like that.”
I want to tell her about the grandma. Bring some humanity into it. She doesn’t give me a chance.