“Attorney General Thomas Harlow,” I said.
“Thomas fucking Harlow,” he confirmed. “A real prick. I don’t know anybody who can stand him. But he’s the most powerful man in the state. And nobody wants to piss him off.”
I let out a breath. “Life really got me good on that one.”
“Yeah. It did. Which is why I don’t think I can do anything. Even if I wanted to.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out the officer’s report from the gas station.
“Have you seen this before?”
He took it, read through it carefully, and shook his head. “No. I remember requesting the 911 call logs from the night of the murder when I started the investigation, but this report must have come in after I got pulled off the case. This has Kara Belmont written all over it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a detective,” he said, a little too proudly. “Look at this last sentence in the report. Where it says there’s no connection between the gas station call and Zach’s murder.”
He pointed at it.
“The gas station call came in before the body was found. So how could the officer say there was no connection to a murder he didn’t even know existed yet? That line was added later to his already written report.”
He flipped back to the top of the page.
“Besides, no patrol cop would take it on himself to call a potential lead to a murder unrelated. Not unless someone above him told him to do so.”
His jaw tightened as he read the last lines again. “Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath. Then he handed the paper back to me.
“Now what do we do?” I asked.
“We gotta go.” He opened the door.
“Go where?”
“The gas station. Meet me there.”
I glanced at the clock. I was more than an hour north of home and had to pick up the kids. But if I moved fast, I could do both.
I typed the gas station into my GPS as Detective Nolan got into his car.
I was anxious but also hopeful. For the first time, there might be real evidence—not just my word—that Lacey didn’t do this.
Now all I had to do was find the real killer. And that was as terrifying as it sounded.
Chapter 20
Nicole
My hands clenched the steering wheel the whole time I watched Detective Nolan talk to the man inside the gas station. He was an older guy with a narrow face and a mistrustful stare.
Nolan nodded at something the man said, then they disappeared into the back for a few minutes before returning and talking a bit more. Finally, Detective Nolan rushed out of the gas station and hopped into my car.
He held a small piece of paper in his hand.
It read: MA 443FD.
I didn’t know why, but I memorized it instantly before he slid the paper into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Years as a teacher had taught me how to remember a few numbers and letters.
“Well?” I asked.
