Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(49)
“We’re going to figure this out, Sam.”
She glanced at him. “When? When are we going to figure it out?”
“We’ve already got three things we didn’t have before—the statement from Davis, the info about Conklin and the reminder of the messenger bag.”
“Which could be anywhere at this point.”
“We should check the evidence locker at HQ.”
She shook her head. “We’ve already done that. It wasn’t with the stuff from the shooting.”
“We weren’t looking for the bag then. This time we would be.”
He was right. It was worth a shot. “Yeah, I guess so.” She opened her phone and called her sister Tracy, who answered on the second ring.
“What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
“Sure thing.”
“Do you remember the messenger bag Dad used to carry to work?”
“The man purse?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah.”
“What about it?”
“One of my colleagues mentioned it earlier today, and I realized I’d forgotten about it—and that no one has seen it since the shooting. So we’re looking for it.”
“Have you checked the house?”
“Freddie and I just went through the stuff that was sent home from HQ after he retired and his old bedroom and closet, but it’s not here.”
“What can I do?”
“A more thorough search of the house? I don’t want to ask Celia to do it.”
“I’m on it, and I’ll get Ang to help.”
“Thanks, Trace. You’re the best.”
“We’ll do anything we can to help figure out who shot him.”
“This is a big help. Thanks.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Sam closed the phone, took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the bed, taking a last look at the familiar room that reminded her so profoundly of her dad and the way life had been before the shooting.
Freddie stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Give yourself a minute if you need it.”
“I’m okay.” She said what he needed to hear, but she wondered if she’d ever truly be okay in a world that no longer included her beloved father.
* * *
JOE WAITED UNTIL two o’clock before he went to find Jake in his office, surrounded by four stacks of paper. “How’s it going?”
“Slow.”
“Want some help?”
“Wouldn’t say no to that.” Jake gestured to the piles. “These are all the calls to Conklin’s extension, one stack for each of the last four years. I’m almost through the first year. Three more to go.”
“Give me a year and the number we’re looking for.”
Jake handed over the pages and a sticky note with Davis’s number written on it.
“Just like the old days, huh?”
“You mean back when we were useful?”
Joe laughed, which he wouldn’t have thought possible. He’d been up all night, overtaken by the stress of Conklin’s possible involvement in Skip’s shooting and what he might have to do about it if it turned out to be true. The very idea that Conklin could’ve kept something like this from them intentionally was so overwhelming and revolting. And if it was true, what else was there? What other secrets had his deputy chief been keeping?
They worked in silence, scrolling through page after page of numbers. It would’ve been easier to have Archie do a computer search for the number, but Joe was afraid to tip his hand about what they were looking for. So they did it by hand, the old-fashioned way.
Joe broke the long silence. “Remember when we used to be all about the paper?”
“I remember. I like computer searches better.”
“Me too, but that’s not an option this time.” He glanced at Jake. “Did Archie have anything to say about the request?”
“Nope. After he confirmed it with you, he printed it out and handed it over.”
The lieutenant who led their IT department was one of the best officers Joe had ever worked with—thorough, competent, discreet and meticulous. “We probably could’ve told him what we were looking for and let him do it.”
“Probably.”
While they respected and admired Archie, they didn’t trust anyone with a situation this potentially explosive for the department. They went back to scanning the pages.
Another twenty minutes passed before Jake gasped and sat up straighter. “Pay dirt. He called Conklin’s extension on the first anniversary of the shooting.” He shuffled through another stack of papers. “And the second anniversary. You’ve got the third year—check the date of the shooting.”
Joe sifted to the back of the pile to check the December dates, scanning for the date of the shooting, his heart sinking when he saw the number they were looking for. “And the third anniversary.” Joe glanced at Jake. “He called every year, looking for an update on the case.” He handed the page over to Jake, who ran a highlighter over the line in question and put it with the other two pages.
Jake blew out a deep breath and sagged into his chair. “What do we do?”