Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Behind us, Shawna gasps and glass crashes as she drops her tray of drinks.
Schmidt doesn’t even flinch. “Please turn around with your hands behind your back so I can handcuff you.”
Matt does as asked, a cagey look in his eyes. “Emery, I—”
“You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay,” Schmidt cuts him off.
I listen with an odd mix of shock, satisfaction, and sadness as the detective coolly delivers the Charter rights to a man I considered a friend.
The small audience in the Bale House is stunned silent. No doubt news of this arrest will be traveling through Cold River like a freight train at maximum speed with no brakes within the hour. For once, I’m pleased.
But this will rock our community. Matt Danes is known and well liked.
“Ready?” Schmidt calls out to Terry before leading Matt away.
“Yeah, coming,” Terry says, his words muffled. “Damn, McAllister, you were right. This is good.”
I turn to find my take-out container open and Terry devouring a quarter of my club sandwich.
“Guess I’m not getting that burger.” He saunters out.
Annie:
They’re inducing her!
I smile at the text before tucking my phone back into my pocket. Sarah must be relieved.
The smell of gasoline touches my nostrils, and I inhale instinctively as the pump meter churns and fuel pours into my SUV’s tank. There is something especially potent about that scent in early spring, when the air temperature is neither crisp nor mild.
My gaze drifts to the busy street and the cars that travel it, on their way home from work or to grab groceries for dinner, to shuttle their kids to after-school activities or any number of daily life’s errands, unaware of the shock that’s about to unfold. It’s the second time in twenty years Cold River will have made headlines. By tonight, even the biggest news stations will have reporters here to get more information about the arrest made in Holly Monroe’s case.
I’m no less in shock now than I was when I realized the truth, only now it’s coupled with anger.
And I teased him about dating younger women. My stomach turns at the thought.
When I left the station for a meeting at Dillon’s office, Matt was waiting to speak to his lawyer. He hasn’t admitted to anything yet.
I imagine Schmidt and Terry will begin interrogating him shortly and if he listens to his lawyer, he won’t answer a single question. Then it’s a matter of building a case that’s strong enough for a conviction. Logan’s eyewitness account of his car at Lake Temagami on Saturday morning won’t be enough.
But it was the catalyst for it all.
When I reviewed the Bale House feed again last night, solely focused on Matt, I saw his guilt unfold as clearly as if I watched him commit his crimes.
The guy was constantly buzzing around—behind the bar, running in and out of the kitchen, changing a keg. He went to his office at least ten times. He was in and out of the camera feed all night long—as anyone can expect a busy owner who works the bar to be—and never for very long. But at 1:05 a.m., Matt grabbed what I now realize was a pack of smokes from the counter and went down the hall. He was gone for nine minutes and thirty-two seconds, and when he reappeared, his blue denim over-shirt was missing and the Bale House logo on his gray T-shirt was an older one.
It’s such a subtle difference, but it’s there, right in front of us.
I’m lost in my thoughts as the red tow truck pulls up on the other side of my pump, its engine chugging. A quick glance around confirms that Axel had four other—more convenient—spots to choose from.
My instincts kick into high alert, given our last encounter. I shut off the gas and set the nozzle back in place, as I use my body radio to call for backup. By the time Axel exits and rounds his truck to reach the pump, I’m waiting for my receipt and dispatch is chirping to inform me that Samir is three minutes out.
Axel’s flat stare when our eyes meet shows no shock. He knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled up there. He scans the area, noting the elderly man at the far side who fills his tank, oblivious to anything but his task at hand.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t be stupid.” My hand hovers over my holster as I shift my stance, checking the passenger side for Hank. But he’s not there. Axel’s alone.
He unfastens his fuel cap. “I heard the Bale House owner was arrested for Holly Monroe’s murder.”
“And?” I’m not surprised he’s heard already. These tow truck drivers are on their CB radios all day long, sharing gossip as much as important traffic info.
The machine on the other side beeps as he presses keys. “I towed that guy’s car to the wreckers.”