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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

“Thanks. Will said you guys are in Vegas.”

“Gotta start somewhere. Did Tweedledee and Tweedledum file that supplemental narrative I told them to?”

“No, but I’m sure they’ll get it in by the end of the day. Kind of weird they would misplace it on the biggest case they’ve ever had, isn’t it?”

“The universe is a mysterious place. And the more mysterious it is for you on this case, the better for your deniability and reelection, if you know what I mean.” I watched as Will took a bite of ketchup with a little bit of steak on it, and it made me gag. “We gotta run and hit one more interview. See you in a few.”

I hung up and said, “Get the steaks to go. I gotta have you kiddos home by bedtime.”

21

21

The bartender lived in an area of Las Vegas that looked about as normal as anywhere. Kids’ toys outside, minivans in the driveways, and clean sidewalks. Diana Trees lived in an apartment complex tucked away behind a grocery store.

Her apartment was on the second floor, and I knocked and pressed my ear against the door. I heard her inside, and then I said loudly, “Diana, this is Tatum Graham. I’m a prosecutor working with the police on a case. Please open up.”

A few seconds later the chain slid off, and the door opened a crack. Jia flashed the badge, and I said, “Diana?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if we chat a minute?”

“About what?”

“Anderson Ficco.”

She hesitated and then opened the door a little more. “Is it about that girl?”

“Patty Winchester? Yes.”

She opened the door all the way and let us inside. She was young and wore a tank top with shorts, her blonde hair streaked with red. A tattoo of someone who looked like a sister or cousin adorned her right shoulder, dates underneath indicating the woman had died at twenty-two.

The apartment was immaculately clean with few decorations. We sat on a sofa and she sat across from us on a love seat. She rubbed her hands together, and I noticed a slow tap of her foot on the carpet.

“Why did you choose Trees?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not a real surname. Maybe it is, but not for you. Why did you choose that?”

She shrugged. “When I was a kid there was a tree outside my room. I could see it from my window. When my father would drink and . . . get in one of his moods, I would just go there and watch the tree.”

“Is that why you changed it? So your father can’t find you?”

She nodded and stared at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and then cleared my throat, regretting having asked. “Um, I’d like to ask you some questions about Anderson if that’s okay.”