Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Tell me the Arrendells didn’t find a way to pay their way out of the prison system entirely.
“What happened?” I growl.
“It’s the suspects you turned over to us last week,” Everett says hesitantly. “Ulysses Arrendell and Culver Jacobin. They’re both—well, they’re both dead.”
Dead?
I rock back in my chair, too stunned to think.
“How?”
“Suicide, I’m afraid. Both of them,” Everett confesses reluctantly. “Apparently, Arrendell hanged himself with his bedsheets in his cell. As for Jacobin, it almost looks like an accident, but we think he did it deliberately. He wadded up a bunch of paper napkins from the cafeteria, shoved them down his throat, and choked.”
What the fucking fuck?
I’m so lost for words my vision blurs.
I don’t even know how to feel. I sit there so numb I can’t feel my legs.
They didn’t kill themselves.
I know those fucks wouldn’t.
Ulysses is too much of a narcissist chickenshit, and Culver, he was desperately hoping that throwing Ollie under the bus would grant him some immunity and lighter sentencing.
This stinks like a cover-up.
The Arrendells, tying up all their loose ends, murdering their own son and his minion before—
Before what?
What do they have to hide that they were afraid would come falling out in court?
“Officer Graves?” Everett cuts in. “You there?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I drag my hand over my face. “Any video surveillance?”
“That’s the thing. There was a power outage for a few hours. No footage at all.” He sighs. “If you think it’s fishy, so do I. I’ve had our technical specialists check everything three times. If there was any tampering, we’ve got no proof. Not one damn bit.”
My gut churns.
My worst suspicions are confirmed.
I chew on the news until I feel sick before I say, “Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll inform my captain. You should call it in to the DA since this will need to go on the case record.”
“Will do,” Everett says. “Thank you.”
We hang up, and I just sit there a while longer, fused to the chair with my fingers laced together, processing as much as my brain physically can.
How the hell do you even start to hash this out?
I should be livid.
Furious that they managed to evade justice.
Only, I know they didn’t take themselves out.
Someone else did.
The whole thing bleeds shades of Jeffrey Epstein, and considering all the powerful dickheads the Arrendells rub shoulders with, I wonder if they took them out the same way.
It’s so fucking ironic an acid laugh rolls out of me.
What they stole from others has now been taken from them.
Before those bastards died, they knew how it felt to stare death in the face and know someone else was pulling the strings, giving them no choice.
It’s a twisted kind of poetry.
The man who killed my sister suffering the same fate.
Is that justice enough for me?
I shake my head.
No, not forever.
For today, it’ll have to do.
When I get home, Delilah’s waiting for me, curled up on the sofa in one of my shirts.
That sight normally drives me into a frenzy, but today my thoughts are heavy.
She knows it as soon as I hang my belt and holster up and settle down on the couch. She instantly shuts the TV off and scoots over.
“Something happened,” I grind out.
“But are you okay?” Dark indigo eyes look up at me, worried and sweet. She curls her hand against my arm.
“A lot happened.” I sigh, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and gathering her against me. “They’re fucking dead, Lilah. Both of them. Ulysses and Culver offed themselves in their cells, supposedly. Of course, I don’t believe a damn word of it.”
“What?” Her eyes widen.
“Yeah. It’s been a day.” I smile wryly. “Aside from the obvious complications, I can’t bring myself to get too choked up over it.”
She buries her face in my shoulder. “Honestly, I hope they’re getting poked in the ass with burning-hot irons by demons who look just like Emma and Celeste.”
I can’t help laughing.
She always does that.
“Very creative. The kids must love your story time.”
“I mean it,” she says fiercely, but then stops with her gaze turning thoughtful. “I guess that’s it then? No chance of them wiggling out of it now. Real closure.”
“For me,” I point out. “Not for Emma’s family.”
“Oh.” Delilah studies me curiously and brushes my cheek. “Are you ready for that?”
“It’s long past time. I can’t let her ma suffer any longer now that I’ve got some real answers for her.” I take a deep breath. “Stay here with me while I do it?”
“Sure,” she says without hesitation.
No more doubt.
No doubt at all that no matter what happens, my girl’s got my back.
I mean, hell, would your girlfriend choke a guy out with her thighs to stop him from jumping you?
The memory almost makes me smile, but it’s not quite in me right now with the somber job ahead.
I drag my brand-new phone out of my pocket—same model as my old one, creature of habit, all my information synced and loaded from the cloud. Marina Santos’ number has been saved in my contacts for weeks, just waiting for me to give her the news.