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“What are they called?”
“Forms 83612-B and 83613-C. Request all of them from around the time of the murders, about a week before and after should do it. The interview will be in there along with a mountain of other shit.”
“Thank you, Misty. You’re one of the good ones.”
“Yeah, one of the fucking few.” She shakes her head. “Request the files in person. If John hears you’re still sniffing around before you get your hands on them, he won’t go easy.”
“I have a feeling Angelo would love a second round.”
“I bet he would. Fucking mobsters and fucking lawyers. Don’t get yourself killed, Sara.” Misty turns and stalks off.
I watch her go, body ringing with excitement. Finally, I have the lead we’ve been needing. If I can get my hands on that interview, and if it says what I think it says, it’ll blow a bunch of massive holes in the prosecution’s case.
Chapter 19
Sara
“You should’ve stayed home,” I say as Angelo limps into the Open Records Unit. It’s housed in the far end of the police department, which is a massive building with a huge Texas Rangers star at one end. It feels like an office building, but with more cops loitering around, and I’m terrified as we slowly make our way to the bank of windows up ahead where bored older women glare at the gathered hopefuls waiting to be called.
“I’m fine,” Angelo says. “Besides, if someone decides they want to hurt you—”
“In the middle of the police department?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“No, I’m in pain because a couple dirty cops kicked my ribs in.”
“Okay, fair enough.” I gently steer him toward a chair on the side of the waiting room. “Just sit, okay?”
He glares, but doesn’t argue.
I grab a number and we get to waiting. The line isn’t too long, but I pace anxiously, unable to keep myself calm. There are a thousand ways this can go wrong and they’re all pretty bad. But worst of all, the documents might not be there, and Vance sent us on this wild-goose chase for nothing.
“You’re drawing attention to yourself,” Angelo says as I move past him for the tenth time. “Come sit on my lap. I’ll calm you down.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Seriously. Sit your fine ass down.”
I suck in a breath and slump into the chair beside him. “Happy?”
“Not remotely. I hate these places.”
“I bet you do. This is your worst nightmare, isn’t it?”
He stares straight ahead and shakes his head. “It’s not because they’re cops. I mean, I don’t love cops, but I understand that they’re a necessary evil to keep our society functioning smoothly. No, my problem is with offices.”
I stare at him, bewildered. “Offices?”
“Yes, Sara, offices. Especially these big, sterile, bureaucratic fucking nightmares.” He shivers and runs a hand through his hair. “The DMV is like my version of hell.”
“Why?”
“People like me, we aren’t taught how to navigate this shit. Everything is like maze and each wrong turn costs you more and more money. Worse than that, this is where the spirit goes to die. No, don’t give me that look, I’m not being all woo-woo about this shit, I really mean it. Folks come into these places and get a nice job and sit around and time just slips past, second by second, and it all feels like an eternity but it also feels like nothing, and then one day you’re old and retiring and what did you do? You shuffled a bunch of papers around.”
“We need places like this, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” He crosses his arms. “I just don’t like it.”
“Number six-one-two,” the woman at the window calls out.
“Come on, that’s us.” I head over with Angelo limping along behind me and give the cashier my biggest smile. “Hello, ma’am. I’m looking to requisition forms 83612-B and 83613-C from the last three weeks.” I push over the prefilled paperwork and she starts to go over it with a critical eye. After a short interrogation, and more hemming and hawing, she finally gestures for us to come around to the side door.
It unlocks with a click and we’re allowed back into the belly of the beast.
“Those forms aren’t allowed to leave the premises,” the woman says. Her nametag claims she’s named Janet. “You’ll have to read them back here. You can take pictures, copies, whatever you need, but the originals stay.”
“Understood,” Angelo says as we’re shown into a bare room with nothing but a table and three rickety chairs. Once she’s gone, he leans toward me and his eyebrows raise. “If this is hell, I think we just met the devil herself.”
I roll my eyes.
Janet returns an agonizing ten minutes later with a large filing box. She drops it on the table. “Good luck,” she says and heads out.
“Don’t look so excited,” Angelo says with a sigh as he leans back in his chair.
