“You should’ve stayed home,” I say as Angelo limps into the Open Records Unit. It’s housed in the far end of the police department, which is a massive building with a huge Texas Rangers star at one end. It feels like an office building, but with more cops loitering around, and I’m terrified as we slowly make our way to the bank of windows up ahead where bored older women glare at the gathered hopefuls waiting to be called.
“I’m fine,” Angelo says. “Besides, if someone decides they want to hurt you—”
“In the middle of the police department?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“No, I’m in pain because a couple dirty cops kicked my ribs in.”
“Okay, fair enough.” I gently steer him toward a chair on the side of the waiting room. “Just sit, okay?”
He glares, but doesn’t argue.
I grab a number and we get to waiting. The line isn’t too long, but I pace anxiously, unable to keep myself calm. There are a thousand ways this can go wrong and they’re all pretty bad. But worst of all, the documents might not be there, and Vance sent us on this wild-goose chase for nothing.
“You’re drawing attention to yourself,” Angelo says as I move past him for the tenth time. “Come sit on my lap. I’ll calm you down.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Seriously. Sit your fine ass down.”
I suck in a breath and slump into the chair beside him. “Happy?”
“Not remotely. I hate these places.”
“I bet you do. This is your worst nightmare, isn’t it?”
He stares straight ahead and shakes his head. “It’s not because they’re cops. I mean, I don’t love cops, but I understand that they’re a necessary evil to keep our society functioning smoothly. No, my problem is with offices.”
I stare at him, bewildered. “Offices?”
“Yes, Sara, offices. Especially these big, sterile, bureaucratic fucking nightmares.” He shivers and runs a hand through his hair. “The DMV is like my version of hell.”
“Why?”
“People like me, we aren’t taught how to navigate this shit. Everything is like maze and each wrong turn costs you more and more money. Worse than that, this is where the spirit goes to die. No, don’t give me that look, I’m not being all woo-woo about this shit, I really mean it. Folks come into these places and get a nice job and sit around and time just slips past, second by second, and it all feels like an eternity but it also feels like nothing, and then one day you’re old and retiring and what did you do? You shuffled a bunch of papers around.”
“We need places like this, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” He crosses his arms. “I just don’t like it.”
“Number six-one-two,” the woman at the window calls out.
“Come on, that’s us.” I head over with Angelo limping along behind me and give the cashier my biggest smile. “Hello, ma’am. I’m looking to requisition forms 83612-B and 83613-C from the last three weeks.” I push over the prefilled paperwork and she starts to go over it with a critical eye. After a short interrogation, and more hemming and hawing, she finally gestures for us to come around to the side door.
It unlocks with a click and we’re allowed back into the belly of the beast.
“Those forms aren’t allowed to leave the premises,” the woman says. Her nametag claims she’s named Janet. “You’ll have to read them back here. You can take pictures, copies, whatever you need, but the originals stay.”
“Understood,” Angelo says as we’re shown into a bare room with nothing but a table and three rickety chairs. Once she’s gone, he leans toward me and his eyebrows raise. “If this is hell, I think we just met the devil herself.”
I roll my eyes.
Janet returns an agonizing ten minutes later with a large filing box. She drops it on the table. “Good luck,” she says and heads out.
“Don’t look so excited,” Angelo says with a sigh as he leans back in his chair.
“You gonna help me?”
“Absolutely not. This is like your World Series right now.”
“I’m not that much of a nerd.” I start to pick my way through the papers. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, and I start to despair. “This is going to take hours.”
“Great. Wake me up if you need something. Like a gun to end your misery.” He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes.
“Asshole.”
But Angelo’s right. This is like my World Series. It’s a challenge, and while it’s a boring one, at least it’s noble. I start going through each form, looking for that damn interview, and I marvel at the sheer amount of stuff the cops are trying to hide. Dozens of reports, evidence lists, ballistics, coroner stuff, all of it shoved down here in the records department and hidden away in boxes and plastered over with these fake-as-hell forms to cover up their tracks. I wonder if anyone’s ever bothered to look through this stuff before. Probably not. I bet only cops even know it exists.
Finally, after I’m starting to think Misty lied to me, I come across a bundle of pages that look familiar and my heart starts to race. Right there on the front is Wally’s name, followed by Detective Vance, followed by her handwritten signature.
“Wake up,” I whisper harshly.
Angelo cracks one eye open. “Got it?”
I grin at him and wave the pages in the air. “Got it.”
Together, we photograph everything. When that’s done, I email it all back to myself, just to make sure I can’t lose it. “Let’s get out of here.” I start jamming pages back into the box.
But there’s a noise out in the hall. Voices, whispering urgently to each other. I pause, straining to hear, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Angelo looks unhappy as he climbs to his feet, and one voice raises, getting loud and closer.
Janet sounds distressed. Poor Janet. “I’m sorry, Detective, but this is very unusual, you can’t just—”
The door rips open and there he is.
Detective Vance’s partner.
John himself.
Angelo jumps to his feet. John looks from me to the box and back to me again and I can see the rage in his eyes. His fingers twitch like he’s reaching for his gun, but Janet appears at his side, looking furious, her matronly face yanked into a frown.
“This is a breach of protocol, Detective,” she says harshly. “I will be reporting it to your superior.”
“Fuck off, you decrepit paper-pushing harpy, or I’ll break your fucking nose,” he growls at her.
Janet looks affronted and scurries away.
“How’d you find us?” Angelo asks, slowly putting himself between me and the detective.
“Don’t worry about that.” John stares at Angelo and a grin breaks across his face. “I thought you learned your lesson. I’m impressed you’re walking around right now. You in the mood for another dance?”
“I’ll remind you that we’re in police headquarters right now, Detective,” I say sharply as terror rings down my spine.
“I’d love another go,” Angelo says softly. “This time, keep the gun holstered. Make it a fair fight.”
“Boys,” I say loudly. “Enough.”
Detective John slowly looks at me. “You made a mistake coming here. I don’t know how the fuck you heard about these papers, but you shouldn’t have come sniffing through our dirty laundry.”
“I’m not interested in all the bodies you’re trying to bury, Detective. All I want is the truth about my case. Who killed those cartel men, Detective? You know, don’t you? Or maybe you don’t and all you’re doing is following orders. Either way, Nicolas Cavallo is innocent, and I intend on proving it.”
Detective John’s sneer drips with scorn. “I don’t know why you care about scum like him. Maybe he didn’t do those murders, but you think your boy’s got clean hands? They’re all the same, him and this one, all a bunch of fucking worthless assholes.”
“You’re right, Detective,” Angelo snarls. “We’ve all got dirty hands. Let me show you mine.”
“Angelo.” I grab his arm and dig my fingers into his muscle. “Stop provoking him.”
There’s a thick, tense moment. Detective John stands there, staring at Angelo with a rough grin, and Angelo’s glaring back like he’s about to start a fight right here in the freaking police headquarters. This is basically my worst nightmare, mostly because Angelo’s too hurt to do much more than get himself killed, and I’m not going to be much use in an actual altercation.
“Here’s the deal,” Detective John says, his voice a soft rasp. “Because that pushy fucking archives bitch is hovering around and watching my every move, I’m not going to kill either of you. But I am going to warn you one last time. That makes three, which is more than most people get. You keep this up, someone’s going to die, and I can promise it’s not going to be me.”
“You must have great bosses, Detective,” Angelo says. “Since you’re willing to kill for them.”
“I’m willing to do what’s necessary, now shut your mouth, you filthy fucking creep. You two have no clue what you stepped into.”
“Who’s paying you, Detective?” I ask him. “What’s worth all this mess? You know you can’t kill me. And if you kill Angelo, you’re going to piss his boss off.”
“You think I give a fuck about some East Coast gangster?” Detective John glares at me. “And don’t think you’re above reproach. You wouldn’t be the first young lawyer to kill herself in her first year. Shit happens sometimes. It’s a hard job.”
“If you go near her, I will cut your throat,” Angelo says quietly. “And that’s not an empty threat.”
“I get it, you’re both big and bad.” I tilt my chin up at Detective John and muster all my harsh coldness. “You can sit there and make all the threats you want, but that doesn’t change anything. You’re not going to murder an innocent lawyer even if I am a pain in your ass, and you’re not going to get away with this coverup. If you’re smart, you’ll make sure everyone else goes down, and you avoid going to prison.”
His eyebrows raise. “You’re trying to get me to help you?”
“I’m trying to get you to do the right thing.”
“You’re fucking crazy. Really, you must’ve lost your mind.” The detective steps back out of the room and lingers in the hall. “Don’t forget what I said. My bosses don’t give a shit who you are. If you keep pushing, there will be consequences.”
Angelo stares him down and says nothing as Detective John turns and walks off, leaving us alone in the room.
“That didn’t go great,” I say.
Angelo grunts and turns to me. “You should’ve let me hurt him.”
“You can barely walk. You really think you’ll win that fight?”
“Yes. I do.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s all talk. And besides, we have the transcript now.” I shove the remaining papers in to the box and drop the lid back on. “Let’s get out of here before our friendly detective decides to come back.”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to my office. You know, your personal hell.”
