Page 85 of Hacking the Holidays
I shook my head. “No.”
“Yeah, well, not a surprise. It’s police slang.” Edgar cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable about telling me. “It describes the corrupt practice of law enforcement officers planting fake evidence on a suspect to make an arrest or secure a conviction. It’s extremely rare. I don’t know anyone who has done it, but it can happen.”
My pulse kicked up. “Where would you have looked next if you were going to continue investigating the break-in?”
“Kaiserhof Restaurant has the best security system in town. Multiple cameras. Some of them point right at the street …” He raised his eyebrows.
“And the front of the library,” I finished, understanding clicking into place.
“Also remember—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Edgar said. “Do a thorough analysis of the agent you suspect. There just might be a connection to someone higher in the brass or a public figure with lots of clout. Someone who wants to go after you because you’re an easy target, politically speaking. You didn’t hear any of this from me, though.”
I nodded slowly, gratitude and frustration warring in my chest. “Thank you, Edgar. Really.”
“Just returning a favor. Good luck.” He winked, then walked away.
I sat back down on the metal bench. Edgar’s informationcircled in my mind, the scattered fragments suddenly forming a clear picture. I had actionable intelligence that could hopefully expose Beverly’s corruption, but it was completely impossible to research from inside a jail cell.
There was one other problem as well …
Standard procedure allowed for one phone call.
I could use it to contact a lawyer—someone who knew federal law, who could start building a defense, who could navigate the system, and maybe keep me from spending the next decade or two or three in prison.
Or I could call Zara.
I remembered her phone number, which ended in 1234.
That was a little trickier, though.
The last thing I would want is for her to get in trouble because the FBI learned she was trying to help me while they were building a case against me. I would never forgive myself.
Either way, I needed to do something ASAP.
I walked over to the edge of the cell and called out. “Officer! I’d like to make that phone call now.”
A metallic clatter of keys preceded the heavy sound of boots walking in my direction. The correctional officer sighed, unlocked the solid gate with a rumble, and escorted me to the phone bank.
“Calls are fifteen minutes maximum,” he drawled, planting himself nearby—close enough that he could catch every word of my conversation. “And all calls are recorded.”
Taking a deep breath, I tried to relax.
I had to trust my intellectual connection with Zara because the only way to keep her out of trouble, and the only way for me to get out of there, was for me to talk in code with her.
But would she understand what I was trying to say without my actually saying it? Or would she think it was gibberish, and that I had completely lost my mind?
There was only one way to find out …
My heart rate sped up as I reached for the cold receiver.
This wasn’t just a phone call.
It was my future.
And apparently, it rested in Zara’s hands.
Chapter Twenty-One
ZARA
