Page 44 of All the Missing Pieces

Trey glared at me. “You look into it every year. In fact, now’s about the time you start. I know because you get extra surly. And I understand it. But what I don’t understand is what makes you two different.”

“She’s putting it out there for the whole world to consume. Em’s pain, her story.”

“She’s putting it out there so that we can hopefully find new information.” Trey leaned forward, dislodging Bowser from his knee. “Can you honestly tell me that your yearly rehash is helping?”

His words sliced, but I knew Trey didn’t mean for them to. It was just that he was right. I hadn’t made a single bit of progress. I’d started over on the search parameters after Ridley shared with Emerson that she’d found twenty-three similar crimes. But I’d only found one in a three-hundred-mile radius that had enough similarities to link it. I wanted to see her notes, how she’d made the connections.

Instead of asking, I listened to the two episodes that had gone up on her podcast channel. The first one had been solely background information, the kind you could gather from reading the news coverage at the time. The second had outlined the suspects the police had circled. She had clips from Grady, Coach Kerr’s wife, and Emerson’s math teacher.

And I had to give it to her. She handled them all with care, not pointing the finger at a single one. She had this sort of justice scale to her coverage. For every point leading to the suspect’s guilt, she countered with one of innocence. And she also talked about how the crime had marked them all. There was an empathy to her episodes that was surprising. She didn’tsensationalize the way I’d expected would be necessary for the kind of following she had.

Even through the speaker on my damn phone, I could feel how much Ridley cared. And that just made me more of a bastard for what I’d put her through.

“I need her notes,” I admitted.

Trey stared at me for a long moment. “Have you tried, oh, I don’t know…asking?”

I scowled at the water below.

“That’s what I thought.”

A ring cut through the night air, saving me from more of Trey’s accusations. I reached for my cell, groaning as I saw the station’s number on my screen. We didn’t have a huge roster of officers and support staff, just enough to keep the small county humming along. But when there was an issue, I was always the one who got the call. Didn’t matter that I’d just worked a full shift; it was what I’d signed up for.

I hit theacceptbutton and put the phone to my ear. “Brooks.”

“Evening, Sheriff,” Dina, one of our night shift dispatchers, greeted. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, but we had a little incident at the station.”

I pushed up out of my chair. “What kind of incident?” I was already moving for the back door.

“Someone broke into the secondary evidence locker. The one for cold storage. Deputy Dawson interrupted them, but they clocked him good. EMTs are with him now.”

I let out a stream of curses as I grabbed my badge and service weapon. “I’m on my way.”

“What’s going on?” Trey asked, on his feet by the time I made it back outside.

“Break-in at the station. Can you get Bowser inside and settled?” I asked.

Trey had keys to my place, and if Bowser would listen to anyone, it was him.

“You got it,” he agreed quickly. “Hope everything’s okay.”

I jerked my head in a nod and headed for my SUV. Beeping the locks, I climbed in and started for town. The only downside of where I lived was how long it took me to get anywhere. A good twenty minutes on a normal day, thirty-plus when there was snow. But tonight, I made it in fifteen.

The lights from the ambulance illuminated the station’s parking lot in a staccato swirl. I pulled into my parking spot and jumped out of my vehicle, heading straight for the gurney. The back was raised, and I could see Dawson arguing with Gene, an EMT in his midfifties.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Dawson protested.

Gene simply pinned him with a stare. “You were unconscious for at least thirty minutes. That means hospital and an MRI.”

Dawson scowled at him. “I’ve got a bump on the head. That’s all.”

“We don’t take chances with bullet wounds or head injuries,” I said as I strode over.

“Sheriff,” Dawson said, his cheeks reddening. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see the guy coming.”

“No apologies needed. Just tell me what happened.”

Dawson nodded then winced, clear evidence he did, in fact, need to go to the hospital. “I’d just gotten on shift. It was slow, so I wanted to pull the files for the Martinez case. That’s the cold one I’m on.”

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