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Sam’s left brow quirked. “So you have an alibi? Mind telling us who it is so we can check it?”
Beryl looked away from Sam. “Victor Sorentino.”
Jo glanced at Sam. Victor? That smooth-suited guy they’d met at the owl protest? He was a bigwig at Convale. Jo wondered how Beryl knew him. Clearly, they had a relationship close enough for her to spend the night. Sam didn’t seem at all bothered by that, which was a good sign. It was clear Beryl had a thing for Sam, and at one time Jo had thought maybe Sam returned her affections. Jo was relieved to see that wasn’t the case.
Sam noted it down. “We’ll need to confirm that.”
“Fine,” Beryl said. “Is there anything else?”
Sam rose. “I think that’s it for now. Thanks for your time.”
They stepped outside, the chill air a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere of Beryl’s living room. Jo took a deep breath, trying to shake off the claustrophobia.
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Jo asked.
Sam shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll check her alibi. See what Victor has to say.”
They got into the Tahoe, each with their own thoughts. They’d left Lucy in the car with the windows cracked, and the dog, sensing the mood, lay quietly in the back seat, her presence a silent support in the sea of uncertainties they navigated.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Kevin sat in the dim light of his living room, the glow from his laptop casting shadows across his face. The thumb drive, an unassuming piece of plastic and metal, lay next to the printout of the pictures he’d taken of the notebook he’d found in the evidence room. He’d poured over the pages, deciphering the cryptic notes scrawled in the margins. Each set of numbers and words he tried from the notebook felt like a key, but so far, none had fit the lock.
With a deep breath, Kevin tried another combination from the notebook, his fingers tapping the keys with a mix of hope and skepticism. The screen blinked—access denied, again. He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of frustration and the nagging sense that the answer was right there, just out of reach.
Then a sequence of numbers and a word written in the corner of a page caught his eye. They were different, less orderly, almost an afterthought. It was a strange combination, but something about it felt right. With a hesitant hand, Kevin entered the sequence into the password prompt.
The moment he pressed Enter, the folder icon changed, signaling success. He leaned in closer, his heart rate quickening. The contents of the drive began to reveal themselves—about a dozen images, each featuring a grove of beech trees.
Kevin scrolled through them, a mix of disbelief and realization dawning on him. This was very strange. The lower branches didn’t look natural. It was as if someone had broken and stripped them as some sort of marker.
“What does this have to do with the narcotics case?” he wondered aloud. The notebook, the thumb drive, the trees—there was a link, a mystery wrapped in the shadows of his own lost memories.
His eyes fixed on a set of numbers. Coordinates? Whatever these trees signified, they were a breadcrumb trail leading to answers he desperately needed to find.
Kevin’s initial surge of excitement ebbed away, replaced by a creeping sense of puzzlement. This wasn’t the incriminating evidence or dangerous secrets he had anticipated. It was… benign, almost disappointingly so. But then again, in a town like theirs, where every detail could mean something more, Kevin couldn’t shake off the feeling that these pictures, these markings, held a significance he couldn’t yet understand.
He thought about the branches, wondering if they were some sort of code or message. The numbers, too, intrigued him. Could they be locations? And if so, what did they signify? A meeting place or perhaps somewhere that drugs or drug money had been stashed? It was a puzzle, but not the kind he expected to find.
With a sigh, Kevin decided it was time to bring someone else in. Sam would know what to do, he thought. He would hand over the drive to him when he visited the station next. Perhaps together, they could unravel this peculiar mystery.
But how would he explain cracking the code? Just luck? He couldn’t tell Sam he’d taken pictures of the notebook in evidence. That was against the rules, and he didn’t want anything to jeopardize his chances of full reinstatement.
As he shut down his laptop, Kevin couldn’t help but feel a mix of worry and curiosity. The discovery felt significant yet elusive, a piece of a larger puzzle he was yet to see in its entirety.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
“Looks like Jamison didn’t waste any time.” Jo pointed to the campaign sign with Jamison’s name in bold letters. He’d put it on the opposite side of the walkway from Marnie’s in front of the police station.
“I hope this doesn’t turn into a sign war in front of the station.” Sam opened the door and gestured for Jo and Lucy to enter.
Inside, Reese was crouched on the floor in the corner, meticulously applying the last strokes of paint to the baseboard. Lucy rushed over, whining slightly.
“Don’t worry. I’m fine!” Reese laughed, patting Lucy’s head, amused by her apparent concern.
Reese stood up, wiping her hands on a rag. “Almost done in here. Planning to start on the hallway next, if that’s okay with you, Sam.”
Sam looked around, nodding. “It’s looking good, Reese. Go ahead with the hallway.”
