Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I can almost see the gears turning in Holly’s head as she asks herself if I can be trusted. It’s a look I never want to see on her face again.
Chapter Thirty-two
Caleb
Forensics and police units from Knoxville and state troopers descend upon Austin’s kitchen. The house quickly devolves into a twenty-man circus.
They question us at the house, then again down at the station. With Austin’s place now a designated crime scene, I check the girls into a hotel and then drive back to work to begin prepping for the interrogation.
When you work with someone for a long time, it’s hard not to feel like you know them. There’s a bond that forms between brothers and sisters in arms. An us-versus-them mentality that can poison your judgment and blind you to a person’s true motivations.
I’m not looking forward to accusing one of my colleagues of taking bribes and covering up murders. But that’s the job. We catch the bad guys, including the ones in our own backyard.
My partner comes marching into the station, breathless, like she literally ran over here. She’s practically steaming by the time she reaches my desk.
“What the hell, Cal,” she says. “I had to find out from a fucking patrol drone that Hoyt Renier broke into Austin’s house last night. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, rubbing my eyes. “It’s been one hell of a morning.”
“You need to stop keeping me in the dark—”
“I know.” I raise my hands. “I know. But look, I figured out who’s been leaking police info to Reverend Davis.”
That gets her attention. “Who is it?”
“Got ‘em in there.” I hook my thumb toward the interrogation room. “You ready for this?”
“Jesus... I guess.” She runs a hand through her unbrushed hair. “Have you told Harris?”
“He’s been informed.”
I let Abby enter the room ahead of me. As soon as she realizes there’s no one waiting for us, she whirls around.
“Cal, what’s going on?”
“Take a seat, Abby,” I say.
She balks. “Take a seat? What the hell is this?”
I drop the folder I’m carrying on the table and pull out a chair for myself. I sit down and wait for her to do the same.
When she finally does, I ask her, “How long have you been working for Clyde Davis?”
“What are you talking about?”
I study her in silence, noting her darting gaze and the sweat beading on her brow. She tells me I’ve gone crazy—twice—then attempts to leave, only to find the door’s locked.
She turns to glare at me. “Cal, this is insane. Let me out.”
“Renier gave you up,” I tell her. “Started running his mouth as soon as he got to the hospital.”
Instead of calling 911 last night, I called Lieutenant Harris and told him my suspicions about Abby’s involvement with the reverend. He admitted to looking into her himself—specifically regarding some mysterious payments that’d been deposited to her bank account like clockwork. Harris called in the shooting himself, and made damn sure Abby didn’t get so much as a text about last night’s break-in until I was ready to bring her in.
“This is your chance to do the right thing,” I say.
Abby’s whole demeanor shifts from shocked and appalled to bitterly resigned in the span of sixty seconds. She drops back into the chair across the table.
“I was so sure Harris was going to fire you for crashing King’s party,” she says. “He really should have.”
“I take it Clyde’s been paying you to keep tabs for him,” I say. She squints. I open the folder of financial documents and slide it toward her. “The payments to your account going back four years.”
“I don’t work for Clyde,” she says. “I work for his brother, Jim. He hired me when he first ran for governor. But Clyde’s appetite for coke and pussy makes him a liability, so Jim started paying me more to keep the heat off both their backs.”
A foul taste coats my tongue, like rotten meat.
“I take it you knew who Hoyt was all this time,” I say. “What he was doing.”
“Keeping the governor’s psychotic bastard son off the cops’ radar was part of the deal I made.”
I freeze my features in place, refusing to react to this new information. I need Abby to think she’s reaffirming what Hoyt already told us, just long enough to get her full confession.
“Governor must have some sentimental attachment to the guy,” I say. “Otherwise, why risk keeping him around?”
“Jim thought it was better to keep Hoyt close rather than risk the truth getting out. Public tends to frown on politicians having babies out of wedlock.”
“I suspect they might have a few thoughts about the governor’s son being a serial killer.”
She snickers. “Honestly, considering who his vics are, they might not. You’ve said it yourself, Cal, nobody cares about teenage prostitutes. Till now, it’s been a perfect arrangement. Clyde gets all the cheap pussy he wants, and his crazy nephew gets to realize his vision, or whatever the fuck he calls it. I’m sure he hasn’t shut up about it since you arrested him.”