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Back The Hallows Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I sighed. “No, they are not. The way I see it, I can cut a deal and get a conviction against Anderson, or I can try them both with what I have and rely on Lyle saying there were two of them the night he heard the screaming, even though he can’t identify Steven as the other person there. It might be enough, but it might not. If I were Russell, I’d put Anderson up there to say it was all Steven. And then I’d put his ex on to say Steven’s a creep-o and Anderson isn’t capable of something like this. Then I’d hammer home that Patty was an escort at seventeen and who the hell really knows what scumbag killed her. Not a slam dunk for either one of us. So do I go for the single certain conviction, or do I try for both?”

She shrugged. “Your case. You decide.”

“This affects you, too, you know.”

“I know. But if I lose the election, I lose. Outa my hands.”

I turned back to the video and watched Anderson. His eyes would roll back in his head and then he’d snap to attention for a few moments before nearly dozing off again.

“Can you get access to everywhere at the police station?”

49

49

We strolled into the station, chatting about Gates’s time training the officers here when she first became county attorney. Only one cop seemed to be in the entire place. Gates began speaking to the officer on duty while I roamed around the offices. Howard’s office interested me: it was nothing but posters of athletes and a girl in a bikini standing next to a Ferrari. The type of things a thirteen-year-old boy might have.

Gates came up behind me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “Back here.”

We passed the janitor’s closet and encountered a large room filled with boxes of files. It was gray and dark and smelled like mold. Stairs led down to another room filled with boxes and a hanging light bulb.

“Wow, Gates, could you not find a wet crypt to store all these in?”

“Hey, we don’t have the budget of a South Beach PD. We do what we can. You wouldn’t believe how hard it’s been to even get the county to agree to scan all these and store them electronically in case there’s a fire. It still won’t happen for another year.”

At the back of the room, she skimmed the boxes alphabetically before pulling out a large manila file. She opened it up, revealing Anderson Ficco’s photo on the inside flap. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen. His eyes were even.

“What happened to his eye?”

“Got injured playing football last year. Roscoe Mallory said he ran into a steel pipe that was lying around for construction near the field.”

“Ran into a pipe?”