“And you believed him?”
“Considering that I went over ninety miles an houracross two separate Keys and passed at least one squad car that didn’t bother to pursue—while I was driving Mr. Glover’s extremely recognizable vintage Mercedes—I figured that he was probably telling the truth. But if you’d like to offer another explanation, I’m all ears.”
This time, when the two detectives exchange a look, they hold a silent conversation. The man stands, walking across the room. Once his head is blocking the camera mounted in the corner, the woman turns off the recorder on the table.
“We are aware that there are certain… issues within the department. But rest assured, those issues don’t extend to either of us.”
She rewinds the tape. Plays it forward until my voice says, “I was busy.” Giving me a tight smile, she presses record again, effectively wiping my accusation from the record. Her partner bows his back like he just got up to stretch, then returns to his seat.
It’s not the smartest move on their part. Both the time of the audio recording and the video will be noted in the case file. Anyone paying attention will notice the discrepancy. But I’m not going to point that out. I’ve reached my quota of risks for the day.
“Now, then. How did you come to be aware that Garrett Glover was somehow involved in the attempt on your life?”
“Don Farris—that’s the hitman—his wife’s Facebook page. I scrolled through the pictures in her feed. When I saw one of Don with Garrett, I took a screenshot and ran a reverse image search using Google Lens to find out who he was.”
“But how did you know to do that? Did you recognize him?”
This time, I’m the one to shift uncomfortably. “Yesand no.” Lifting my head from Jake’s chest, I look him in the eyes. “He bore enough of a resemblance to Jake that I suspected they must be related somehow.”
Jake’s arms tighten around me.
The female detective says, “That’s right. It’s your mother who was responsible for ordering the hit.”
“Yes,” he admits.
“Man. My mother-in-law hates me, but I suppose I should consider myself lucky that she’s never taken things that far.” She laughs at her own joke, but she’s the only one. Realizing that it’s fallen flat, she quickly continues, “How did you find the warehouse?”
“I searched his name on the Monroe County Property Tax website. It was one of the addresses listed in his name.”
“And you decided to pay it a visit?”
If the tattooed teller from the bank didn’t report the actions I took to contact Garrett and get him to meet me there, I’m not going to admit to it now, so I just nod.
“Our crime scene analysts recovered a couple of substances they’ve yet to identify at that scene. I don’t suppose you could help us out with that?”
I grimace. “Glycerin and potassium permanganate. When you combine them, they create fire.”
“A bomb?” the man says, his voice rising a couple octaves.
“No, just a chemical reaction between two substances. It was my insurance policy to make sure I’d get out of there okay, though I may have embellished what would happen when they mix. Made him think the reaction would be a bit more sudden and disastrous.”
“So what happened? What went wrong?”
“I showed up,” Jake says.
“How’d you know where to go? Did Agent Knoxtell you?”
“I did not. He put a tracking device on our car,” I say, cutting my eyes at him.
“Are you in the habit of tracking your girlfriend like that, Mr. Walker?” the woman asks, voice dripping with disapproval.
“No.”
“You realize that’s illegal, don’t you? Using an electronic device to determine someone’s location without their consent?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And yet you did it anyway?”
