Page 93 of Steadfast
“How is a police report filed? What are the steps? Is there a digital copy of the report you showed me? And if it’s altered, is there a record of that?”
Silence. And more silence.
“Hello?” I asked. “Did I lose you?”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking. Why are you asking me this instead of your father?”
Right. “Well, Rob, my father lies to me with great frequency. I clean his house, I cook his meals, and he never misses an opportunity to make sure I know that the wrong kid died. And now I know that my brother was mixed up in something nasty.Andthere are some assholes out there beating the crap out of my ex and dropping my name. You can forgive me for having a little curiosity.”
“Well, dadgummit,” Nelligan muttered. “You make a few good points. But I could lose my job for sticking my nose in this.”
“I know it makes you uncomfortable,” I admitted. “On the other hand, if there’s something shady about this case and your boss is responsible, don’t you want to know? Let me just share a weird detail with you. Both of the officers who assisted with Jude’s arrest and interrogation moved across the country within three months of the incident. Neither of them had family outside of Vermont. They both lived here their whole lives.”
“That doesn’t mean they did something wrong,” Nelligan argued.
“You’re right. And if you pull up this file at your desk and find nothing weird about it, who does that hurt?”
There was a lot more silence. I held my breath, waiting to hear what he’d say.
“What am I looking for exactly?”
“I have a list of inconsistencies. Got a pencil?”
His laugh was rueful. “Why am I not surprised? Let’s hear ’em.”
Chapter Thirty
Jude
Cravings Meter: 1, Stupidity Meter: 11
This weekI drove myself to Thursday Dinner. I brought two-dozen cupcakes from Crumbs and made it just in time for the meal. “Hey guys!” I said as I slipped into the dining room at 6:29, narrowly avoiding a reprimand by Ruth.
“Hey Jude!” someone yelled.
“Heyyy Jude,” sang Griff to the Beatles tune.
“I’ll bet he’s never heard that one before,” Audrey said drily. “Sit here, sweetie.” She patted the last empty seat, the one next to her.
Grandpa Shipley said grace and then dishes began to circle the table. Tonight Mrs. Shipley had made braised beef short ribs and Audrey had done spicy broccoli rabe and a mushroom risotto that smelled so good it made me want to weep.
An unfamiliar young woman sat across the table from me tonight. She had beautiful dark hair and a round, very pregnant belly.
“Have you met our friend, Zara?” Griffin asked.
“I’mAudrey’sfriend,” Zara corrected. “Griffin I could take or leave.”
That got her some laughs all around.
“You manage the Mountain Goat,” I said, remembering where I’d heard her name before. Zara was Griff’s ex, but they were friendly now, even if she liked to tease him. “We haven’t met because bars aren’t really my thing anymore.”
“Well, they seem to run in my family,” she said, passing a basket of bread to Grandpa Shipley. “Did you hear? My brother Alec wants to buy that mill the state is auctioning off. The announcement was in the paper every day this month.”
“Does he really? It’s a cool old structure,” Griffin said. “I think it’s been empty since the flooding from Hurricane Irene. I would have assumed it was too much of a wreck to save.”
“It’s not in bad shape,” she said. “Here, I’ll show you.” She dug her phone out of her purse and tapped the screen to pull up some photos she’d taken. “It has a beautiful interior,” she said. “The exposed brick walls still look great, and the original floorboards are mostly intact.”
“Is your brother really going to buy it?” Audrey wanted to know.
