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Wait, what the hell?
That was the last page in the file.
Where the hell was the rest of it?
I grabbed my phone to call one of the detectives, blinking with surprise when it began ringing. Either it was pure coincidence or Detective Rhodes had somehow read my mind.
“Detective,” I greeted him after taking another swallow of my heavenly Moscato. “I was just about to call you. I’m afraid I’m missing some documents.”
“I know. That’s why I called. The lab is a little backed up, but we should have Justin’s results in the morning.”
“What about the list?”
“We’ll make sure you have it when we see you tomorrow. Hutch and I are going to the hospital to interview Delilah again. Speaking of, we found something on the security tapes you need to see.”
“Send it to my email address. I’ll review it tonight and then we can touch bases on everything in the morning.”
I didn’t give him time to answer before I hung up and texted him my email address. My work laptop was in my office but luckily, I had a spare I kept here at home in case of emergencies.
I went upstairs to retrieve it and then placed it down on the table and waited for it to boot up.
“Alright.” I plopped back down in my seat, guzzling the rest of my drink down. I set the glass aside and then accessed my emails, tapping twice on the video. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
The camera was angled at the front desk where Felix McMann, the owner, stood behind it, wearing an ugly duck mask that ceased just below his nose, exposing his lips, mouth, and jawline. My mouth dropped when our victim, Delilah Fields, walked in unaided wearing a black pencil dress with matching heels. She approached Felix with a bright smile and placed her little pocket-purse down on the counter.
The audio was weak, so I couldn’t really hear what they were saying even with the volume cranked as high as it could go. That was fine though. One thing I just so happen to be particularly skilled at was reading lips.
I studied Delilah’s mouth and was able to make out a few words just before three hard knocks pounding against my door shattered my concentration and had me stumbling to my feet with my hand grasping my chest.
Karl.
“Charlotte?” came Peter’s loud but emotionally soft voice.
I remained calm for nearly two seconds before heat furiously licked up my back and ignited like a freshly lit matchstick, forcing my hands to curl into tight, trembling fists.
Without breathing a word, I marched over to the door and punched in the code to disarm the security system. I unlocked the door and opened it to find him standing there in his best black suit offering me a nervous, forced smile.
“Now you want to talk?” I crossed my arms firmly against my chest and gave him a look that expressed how extraordinarily pissed I was with him.
He knew it too because his smile fell, and then all he could do was gape sadly at me and sigh in defeat.
“May I come in, please?”
I rolled my eyes, then stepped aside, permitting him to enter. I shut the door and reactivated the alarm. Peter followed me into the kitchen and didn’t speak until after I’d finished off the last gulp left in my wine glass.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
I said nothing. I just topped off my glass and unimpressively observed him grip both of his gloved hands around the back of the chair closest to him with my head cocked to the side. Nothing but desperation and sorrow stared back at me through his hazel eyes.
Sorry, Peter, but you should be smart enough to know a simple ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t cut it this time.
“You almost cost me everything, Peter,” I told him in a cold, snipped tone. “Harley just handed me a case that could exponentially impact my career in ways I’ve always dreamed of. She came this close, Peter” –I raised my hand and brought my index finger down to my thumb, leaving the tiniest amount of space between them— “this fucking close to taking it away.” I dropped my arm back to my side and fixed him with a malicious glare. “All because you just had to go and run your fucking mouth to the goddamn Chief.”
“I did it for you, Charlotte. Karl’s been stalking you, threatening you since before the divorce was ever finalized. I truly feel like you’re in danger and need—”
“And I’ve told you countless times that I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. It’s not your problem to fix, Peter. It’s mine. I had to file a report and then sit in Harley’s office for over an hour discussing my personal life and whether or not I was mentally and emotionally stable enough to do my job efficiently. Thanks for that.”
“Nobody forced you to file a report,” he argued, his lips tilting up in a smirk. “You did that because you knew it was the right thing to do.”
