Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I haven’t claimed that as a fact since I have no proof of it. But for me, my gut instinct is all the proof I need to go and confront the bastard. I’ve always had a bad feeling about Elle being around her father after that night and the cover-up that ensued. Now that I feel the devout urge to protect her, I feel even worse about it. If he could have his own wife killed, then what’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to his daughter? I need to confirm that it was him and find out the truth as to why a crooked cop would hire someone to kill his wife. Even for a guy like Hale Monroe, it seems like an unthinkable thing to do. But then again, I’ve seen the unthinkable happen right before my eyes more than once.
When I pull up to the station, I wait until it empties out. At this time of day, several of the cops take lunch breaks and go on the kinds of “patrols” that involve staring at some strippers through club windows and eating a funnel cake in their patrol car. The station’s two remaining cops are the intake officer sitting at the front desk near the door, and Detective Monroe, who is likely holed up in his office making backdoor deals with some of the city’s most corrupt players.
I pause for a moment before getting out of my car to go inside. Walking right through the front door of places isn’t my usual style. But there is something about this particular interaction that makes me feel like I want to handle it a bit differently. I’m still haunted by the knowledge of my passive role that night, and if I’m correct about all of this, and Hale Monroe really is the man behind his wife’s murder, then I don’t want to keep to the shadows when confronting him. I want him to see me coming.
“Can I help you?” the intake officer asks without even looking up as I walk in. He must have heard the door open because his face is still glued to some reel he’s watching on his cell phone.
The taxpayers really pay these assholes too much.
“I’d like to speak with Detective Hale Monroe,” I say.
“Sorry, he’s busy. Unless it’s an emergency, you’ll need to call back tomorrow and schedule an appointment.”
“He’s not busy. And it’s going to be an emergency if another word leaves your trap hole.”
The cop abruptly looks up at me with an indignant glare that instantly drops from his face as soon as he sees my gun pointed at his face. I might not have slipped inside like the Ghost, but I still am the Ghost.
“Make a move and your face turns into meatloaf,” I warn him quietly as I reach for a set of handcuffs near his desk to cuff him in and a rag to stuff in his mouth. “You ever seen your mother make meatloaf?”
He doesn’t say a word, so I just keep talking.
“My mother used to make meatloaf when she was still alive. She used to take the ground beef and pound it with a meat mallet, even more than it was already mashed up, until it became so soft that it was practically butter—red, bloody, soft meat. That’s what your face will look like if you make a sound or get up from this desk. Do you understand?”
He nods, but his eyes betray him and glance around the room.
“Oh, and just so you know,” I whisper as I lean down closer to his face. “They call me the Ghost because I will, in fact, haunt you until the very moment of your death if you defy me. And even after that, I will make your afterlife insufferable.”
I straighten my back and give him a stiff pat on the shoulder. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not going to move or make a sound after my words. Then, I make my way toward Hale’s office. When I open the door, I’m greeted with a slew of curse words.
“For fuck’s sake, Dan, I told you not to bother me today. I’m busy with private business. Do your fucking job and mind the desk or else I’ll find some other ass-kisser to sit there, and I’ll put you out on patrol.” Hale Monroe is every bit as eloquent as I expected him to be, which is to say, not at all.
“I assume Dan is your intake officer? Pity that he’s tied up right now, but I’ll be sure to relay your message to him,” I say, unfazed.
Hale reaches for his gun, but I’m faster than he is.
It takes me less than a measurable second to round his desk and pull it out of his hand before he can even take the shot. What an inept piece of shit this guy is.