"Morning," I grumbled to the clerk, shoving my ID against the glass window that separated us. "I called about cold case file 32856."
He buzzed me into the office and I made my way down the corridor to the reports room, meeting another clerk in the back.
He handed me a thick, yellowed file that held the answers to every question I’d had for the last decade.
Stepping back, I gripped the folder, crunching the papers inside, and then I made my way to one of the tables set up for people to analyze data.
I didn't have to search long through the stack of papers within; Charlotte Stone's name was clear as the accuser against Anthony Delaney. My hands shook as I skimmed through the reports. The doctor in the hospital that night filed the claim. After her rape kit was done and all the evidence was collected, her mother signed her out. The victim was never heard from again.Charlottewas never heard from again. But, the charges still stuck. There was evidence,specific DNA evidence,against him. My father would have never been able to deny the claims. Semen stains sullied her clothes and hair. The evidence rocked me, hollowed me out, leaving me gulping for air. The pictures of her bruised thighs and welted wrists made me break down and cry in the middle of that office. No wonder she freaked out the way she did when I handcuffed her.
I'll never forgive myself for that.
Never.
"Hey, you got what you came here for? Anything else you need?"
All I could offer was a hard shake of my head. I couldn't speak. A primal scream bit at the back of my throat and threatened to explode past my lips if I did.
"You can keep the copies. Case was closed. Suspect offed himself a bunch of years ago."
I gave him another curt nod. My fingers twisted and wrung together as I silently stared down at them. I took a deep breath and lifted my head, easing my shoulders back, trying to calm the rage boiling under my skin.
There would never be justice served here. He took the coward's way out of trouble, and Charlie would never get her day in court. She hadn't even known he was dead. All this time, she just went on thinking that the monster that did this was still out there, but her only worry was about how it wouldaffect me if I found out. All this time I'd wanted to be her hero, and she was already mine.
The whole drive back to the squad, I saw red. The inside of my skin was seething and convulsing with rage. How would I ever get her to remember us after this? How would I ever be able to make up for the sins of my father?
It was just past noon when I walked into the precinct. Through the glass windows of his office, Lieutenant Masterson spotted me and came out into the hallway, heavy bags under his eyes. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"
"When do I ever? Didyoueven go home?" I asked.
"No way. I have a two-month-old with colic; I’d rather be here right now."
"Hey, Lu, can I talk to you in your office?" I asked in a low voice.
"Yeah, come on in," he said, heading to his desk. "Close the door. Sit. Talk."
"Perp contacted me this morning. Wants me to get rid of her for five grand."
"Great. When? We got a tact plan ready for the cross street on the north corner of his block."
"Yeah. Perfect. I told him I'd contact him tonight. Pick him up. I'll wear the camera and wire," I said with a curt nod.
"You better about all this?" he asked.
"Nah." I tossed my father's case folder on his desk. "I have her with me, and that's where she's staying. That's what I wanted you to know."
There was something dark in his expression that I couldn't read—a hesitance, a trepidation that gave me the feeling that he thought I was losing my mind. Hell. Maybe I was, but I just didn't care anymore.
"Holy shit," he said quietly, scanning the first page of the report.
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do now?" he asked curiously.
"At least get this drug-dealing douchebag out of her life, tonight. Put him away for a long time. Then I'm going to do my damnedest to make her forget anyone who ever hurt her," I snarled.
∞
The street was dark. Flashes of light and shadows danced along the edges of the sidewalk and crawled up the tall sides of the buildings. The car windows were open, and the air outside was still, cool. The trees above me were now bare, and the smell of food carts from somewhere down the block drifted through the air. They gave off a distinct flavor of chestnuts and soft, salted pretzel dough. Not five hundred feet away from me, in the dark shadows of an alleyway, hid a van of my teammates, listening in on surveillance. They had to know how on edge I was; usually, I would be singing off key at them into the mics.
