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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

The exhumation couldn’t wait: it had to be done as fast as possible to preserve evidence—if there was any left. Jia said the crime lab had told them it’d be six weeks before they could get someone out here, so I told her to call back and ask to speak with a supervisor. I listened while she told them that unless they sent someone out here immediately, her next call was to the news outlets to let them know the crime lab was risking two boys getting away with rape and murder because they said they were too busy, and then the call after that would be to any legislator that would answer to point them to the news story. The crime lab said they’d have an ME out there tomorrow. It made me smile.

“Will, Jia, Skid Row is in Vegas. We got a drive. Let’s go.”

18

18

Before heading out to Vegas, we drove over to the sheriff’s station. The building had been constructed by the first pioneers out here and looked like a massive log cabin. Didn’t appear to have been many upgrades over the last century and a half.

We went in, and I had Will flash his badge at the front desk.

“Detective Howard, please.”

She directed us to offices in the back. Most detectives in major cities were crammed into a bull pen. The detectives here got their own plush offices complete with a shared secretary. In one office were two men, one young and skinny—with a desk plate that said Brett Vail—and the other middle-aged, bald, and thickly muscled, with faded burn scars on his neck—Mark Howard, I guessed. Dopey looking, guys you’d see at a frat party every night when they were in college. I stepped inside with Jia and Will and shut the door behind me. I folded my arms. The detectives didn’t scream at me to get out, so clearly they knew who I was. Probably a secretary or someone at the County Attorney’s Office had warned them there was a new prosecutor in the office. The two detectives glanced at each other, and Howard rolled his eyes. He had a marine corps tattoo on his forearm and was smoking; he blew out a puff of smoke toward me.

Vail said, “We’re in the middle of something right now, so if—”

“Shut up,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“I said shut up. Listen, son, we’re not playing nice here. Let’s be straight up. You two screwed up this murder investigation worse than I’ve ever seen. The defense attorney Anderson Ficco hired is going to file a motion to dismiss this case and turn both of you into ground beef on the stand. And he’s going to invite at least a few reporters to court so that your embarrassment can be captured for everyone in the state to enjoy.”