Instead, I’m probably about to learn that the woman I love—who I left alone in my condo—is in too deep for me to save her.
If only collaring Riddick without a violent escalation had earned me some good karma. Guess that wasn’t in the cards for me.
Turns out, tarot cards are no better for me than playing cards.
THIRTY-ONE
One ass cork removal, coming right up
REED
Andrews takesone of the two visitor chairs instead of sitting behind his desk, gesturing for me to take the other. “Okay, kid. Let’s go one by one with this shit.”
I guess he got his jollies dicking me around enough in the breakroom, and is gonna get right to it.
However, I don’t love how he’s decided to sitwithme instead of opposite sides of his desk like we normally do when reviewing case information.
He waits until I’m looking him dead on before beginning. “When we first spoke about potentially using Lila as a source, do you remember what you told me about her?”
“Yeah. Age, race, family, employment, how we met. The basic shit. Why?”
“As you know, that information was verified like we do with all potential CIs.”
He pauses for a breath, giving me just enough time to notice the pinch of tension in my shoulders. Although it’s fitting for him to call her a CI, I hate thinking of Lila that way. Nine times out of ten, confidential informants are criminals.
Andrews continues dragging out his prelude. “Everything checked out. And her finances looked good too. Basic check of her phone history and the standard fare. All was clear.”
What the fuck is he tap dancing around? “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“We received new information that contradicts one of those details. While this discovery is almost certainlyunrelated to the case, I told the team I’d inform you. I didn’t want you blindsided should it come up in discussion at tomorrow morning’s debrief.”
“Appreciate that. But spit it out.”
His expression remains solemn as he removes a thin folder from a pile on his desk. Without opening it, he hands it to me.
I take it, casting him a frustrated glare. “If you were gonna make me read it myself, you could have saved us both time by starting here.”
No response from him as I flip open the folder. It’s a printout of an email from an INTERPOL agent.
Quietly, I mumble the introductory message. “Special Agent Andrews, please find attached the information requested on your person of interest, Lila Kent. Apologies for the delay. This was missed initially since the agency of record hasn’t digitized all its files from that long ago. Not sure if it’s relevant to your investigation, but wanted you to have it regardless.”
I cock a brow at Andrews, then turn to the next page.
“I read the report while you were out with Lila this afternoon,” Andrews explains. “I didn’t call you right away because I figured it might hurt your efforts with her.”
While glossing over the formal bullshit at the top of the report, I mutter, “Good call. I made good progress today. She’s done hiding and agreed to spill everything when I get back.” I exhale as I dive in, trying to decipher the handwriting on the report from more than twenty years ago. “Where the hell is Bishop Middleham?”
“Small countryside town in England near Sedgefield. It’s old mining country. Lots of nature reserves and old quarries.”
“Birdwatching?” I ask, only partially kidding.
“Back then, birders flocked from all around to an old quarry where some rare birds were nesting.”
“Knew that off the top of your head, did you?”
He does a one-shoulder shrug. “I was curious enough for a web search.”
A lazy grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I knew Lila’s been a birder for a long time, but she must have been only six or seven when this was?—”
