Chapter 9

Back in my day, a ‘behavior disorder’ was called being an asshole.

-Silas’ thoughts on life

Silas

Four hours later found me heading straight for my office once I arrived at the clubhouse.

Lynn had called twenty minutes before and told me that I had the information I was looking for in my email, and I found that I really wanted to get to the bottom of this case.

Something about her case was bothering me…niggling away at me until I was on the verge of worried.

Sawyer hadn’t lied when she said she wasn’t drunk.

And I knew when people were lying. I had to know when people were lying to stay alive like I did.

I walked through my office and went straight to my computer.

Signing into my secure email, I clicked on the first email from Lynn and clicked open.

The subject line said Sawyer Berry.

The first two paragraphs were the particulars of the case.

Who was involved, details about the location, vehicle types, and the names of the occupants in both vehicles.

Alcohol level: .01.

My mouth dropped open.

What. The. Fuck.

I picked up my phone and called Lynn to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

“Hello?” Lynn answered three rings in.

“I need you to double check the numbers you sent over to me,” I said without preface.

He snorted. “Knew you were going to ask that; I already had it pulled at BPD, too.”

“And?” I asked impatiently.

“Same thing. .01. That’s it,” he answered immediately.

My jaw clenched.

“I need you to contact the lawyer and the judge. Pull me the…”

“…Already did it. Those files should be on your desk by the end of the day,” he interrupted me.

“Thanks. Have you got anything else on Shovel?” I asked him before I hung up.

“Negative.”

Shit.

“Thanks, keep me updated,” I said.

“Will do,” he agreed, and hung up.

I stared at the file some more, becoming more and more confused.

The police report clearly indicated the fact that the Ford Bronco pulled out in front of the Chevy Truck. It also clearly stated that none of the occupants of the Bronco were wearing seatbelts, which was a contributing factor to their being ejected from the vehicle.

It further stated that the two other occupants of the Chevy were drunk.

So drunk that they were nearly twice the legal limit.

“But she wasn’t drunk. What the fuck happened here?” I wondered aloud.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I found out more about this, I picked up my phone and keys from the desk and started to walk right back out the door without accomplishing any of my paperwork.

I guess that was one of the benefits of being the boss, though, getting to do whatever the fuck you wanted to do, when you wanted to do it.

I arrived at BPD less than five minutes after leaving my office, and I walked straight into the building, not even bothering to say hi to Loki or Trance as I went in.

The two of them were busy, though, and didn’t even notice when I passed by.

I walked straight into the Chief’s office and shut the door without asking.

“Silas,” Burke said, looking up at me with no surprise in his eyes.

Burke and I went way back.

I dropped a file on his desk, and he hesitated only briefly before he flipped it open with two fingers.

Leaning forward and grabbing his glasses off the desk, he pushed them on and started reading.

The more he read, the more stiff his body became until he fairly resembled a statue.

“You see it,” I surmised.

He nodded.

“Who was in charge of this case?” I asked.

He looked up, and his usually gray eyes were filled with menace.

“Harold Dunbar.”

My brows creased. “He’s been dead for eight years.”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Then a little niggle of worry started to slither down my spine.

“Who was the judge?” I asked, taking a seat across the desk from him.

He whirled to the side and started to peck away at his keyboard.

Much like I did.

“Escobar Giuliani,” he answered after a few long moments.

My blood chilled. “Let me guess…he’s dead.”

Burke shook his head. “No. Retired.”

My brows furrowed as I thought back to Escobar Giuliani. He’d been a young judge, and if I was thinking of the right man, he’d made quite a stir when he retired and decided to start a different career in the oil field.

At the time, I hadn’t thought it odd.

I’d heard of cops and even some teachers leaving their jobs to go into the oil field. It was a high paying business. You earned a lot of money in a short amount of time.

It was demanding for a job, but it paid really, really well.

It was normal for any person to seek a higher paying job.

But Giuliani already had a high paying – and powerful – job.

And I didn’t know a single judge, lawyer or even a doctor who left their high-paying jobs – jobs that had worked hard through higher education to earn – to take a position in the oilfield.

It was counterproductive.

“So, eight years ago, give or take, Giuliani retired?” I confirmed my suspicions.

He nodded. “Correct.”

“Alright, I think I’ll make a little side trip to see him. Give me his address.”

On my way out ten minutes later, I made eye contact with both Loki and Trance, urging them to follow me outside.

They did so without hesitation, Loki finishing up a phone call, and Trance gathering up Kosher.

When they met me outside, I had my phone to my ear and my second born son on the line.

“I need you to meet me somewhere,” I said without hesitation.

I didn’t really care if he had anything to do.

I knew he had the day off.

And to be honest, I’d dropped enough of my shit to help him that he could do the same for me.

“I have the kids,” he said.

“Call Baylee and get her there. I’ll text you the address. Meet me there in forty five minutes.” I ordered and hung up.

I texted him the address, knowing he’d call his wife and get her there, and I then turned to the two men at my back.

“Either of you remember that college kid killing the other college kids and the two teachers eight and a half years ago?” I asked.

They both nodded, but it was Trance’s eyes that turned hard.

“I met her. She works at the dogs’ vet.”

I nodded. “Sawyer Berry. Dallas Berry’s twin sister. Reba’s daughter.”

Understanding started to dawn in Loki’s eyes.

But it wasn’t what he thought.

In fact, it was quite the opposite.

This had nothing to do with Reba and everything to do with her daughter.

I handed the file folder over to Loki first and gave Trance the copy that I’d made while in the chief’s office.

They both read, and I knew the exact instant that they got to the line where they read the alcohol level.

“What in the actual fuck?” Trance exclaimed.

I didn’t say anything, waiting for them to read all the way through.

“So you have a dead detective and lawyer, a missing judge, and a girl in jail for eight years for a crime she didn’t commit,” Loki finally said, looking up at me.

I nodded. “Essentially.”

“What do you need us to do?” He asked, handing the file over.

I waved him off. “Keep it. I’ve got my own at home. I want you to go ask some questions about the lawyer’s death.”

“And me?” Trance asked.

“You’re coming with me. I’ll need your…handiwork,” I said, looking down at Kosher.

Kosher was intimidating as fuck.

I’d had my own trained narcotics dog about fifteen years ago, and Cujo – most aptly named, might I add – was intimidating as hell. But Kosher had Cujo beat by a mile.

He was the standard color of most German Shepherds, but he was the size of a Shetland pony on steroids.

And when he ran it sounded like a fucking Arabian horse barreling down on his unsuspecting prey.

Which was exactly what I wanted.

“I need to make one minor stop before we head over there,” I said, straddling my bike and starting it up with a roar.

The others followed suit, and we were on our way in no time.