“We’re going to give it to the police, and we’ll keep Diego’s name out of it. That’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “Now, who wants sweet tea?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning, I confidently marched into the police station and asked for Detective Alex Holt. The receptionist asked me to wait, so I sat in a hard blue plastic seat that was bolted to the floor. I’d only been inside the main Wahoo police station once in my life. It was in sixth grade and we were on a class field trip. The only thing I remember about that day was when they wanted to fingerprint us for fun.
Vera had refused because she didn’t want to get her fingers dirty. I’d refused in solidarity. Dad had praised us both, telling us that it had been an excuse to keep our prints on file in case we committed crimes as adults.
“Don’t want to get too chummy with the law,” he’d said, then he’d taken us out for ice cream to reward us for our “street smarts.”
Man, I missed Dad something fierce. Tears pricked at my eyes and I rubbed the wetness away.
Five minutes later, Alex poked his head through a door. “Ms. Andrews, come with me.”
I followed him down a hall and into a spacious office.
“I see you’ve gotten an upgrade,” I said, looking around. It was a definite improvement in his surroundings; there was a new wooden desk, an office chair that looked aerodynamic, and two other comfy seats. There was also a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, filled with legal titles and spines that said FLORIDA STATUTES.
I expected to see a few framed personal photos. A wife, kids, maybe a dog. But there were no intimate touches of decor here. However, he did have a few tasteful prints on the wall, including a map of Spanish Florida.
I stood staring at the map for a second.
“That’s an original,” he said. “I bought it in St. Augustine.”
“It’s wonderful.” Vera would adore this print. She loved Old Florida stuff.
He moved behind his desk and sat in the sleek chair. Today his stubble was a little longer, and with that strong jaw, he looked like he could play a cop in a Hollywood movie.
“So, what have you got for me? I don’t think you came by to check out my new office.”
I sank into one of the leather chairs on the other side of the desk and fished out the thumb drive that Diego had given me. The previous night, Jack and I had combed through it to make sure there was no other evidence or documents on it. We’d heard plenty of foul, racist, and sexist things from Gene, but didn’t seem to find any further illegal activities.
With a flourish, I handed it to Alex, reciting what Jack had coached me to say. “This came into my possession. I thought you might be interested in the contents.”
Alex scowled at me as he took the device. “What is it?”
“Watch it. There’s only one file on the drive. Don’t worry, there are no viruses. If you want, we can play it on my laptop.” I patted my messenger bag.
He looked at me, then at the thumb drive, then sighed.
“No, I’ll use my computer.”
He opened a laptop and plugged the drive into the side—I noted that he didn’t insert it into his desktop—and leaned back as he watched with the sound up all the way. Gene’s gravelly, phlegmy voice bounced around the room, inspiring an instinctive nausea in my stomach. Even in death, Gene was revolting.
“I’d start at about three minutes thirty seconds.”
Alex tapped on the keyboard and played the clip. When it ended, Alex played it a second time. Then a third. I sat silently with my hands folded in my lap and watched his bright blue eyes scan the laptop screen.
He tapped on the keyboard and removed the device, then snapped the laptop shut. “Where did you get this?”
“Someone gave it to me. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”
He scratched his jaw. “It is indeed. Who gave it to you?”
I swallowed hard. “I’d rather not say.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the stolen videos from the reality TV people, does it?”
I shrugged and widened my eyes. “I’m not really sure.”