States of Grace by Mandy Miller (great novels of all time .TXT) 📗

He stiffens. “Hell, no. I’m not afraid. I don’t like going behind his back is all. He’s a good partner. Much as you want to deny it, the Vicanti fiasco changed him.”

I grunt and inhale the last of my pizza as he stares at me, unblinking.

“People make mistakes and some of them deserve second chances. And some even get them. The trick is to not fuck up the second chances. And I’d advise you to try not to do the same. Second chances don’t come along twice.”

“Thanks for the advice, Detective. But I’d still like to know why you or your partner didn’t clue me in on the fact that Sinclair was arrested at FCP, or at least mention it in the reports on Zoe Slim’s case.”

“Like I said, it’s irrelevant. We’ve got your girl dead to rights.”

“Maybe, but it might have been nice to know that the victim was a dealer. And why’d you single out Sinclair? There’s a line of dealers outside FCP as long as my list of debts waiting to deal their stash.”

He drops his head to his chest. “Jesus, you’re a pit bull.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Okay, but you didn’t hear this from me. I collared Sinclair at FCP. People were selling their prescriptions. Then one guy OD’d in his car in the parking lot. That reporter, what’s her name? Sharon Posner. She shot video of a bunch of drug deals out in the open, in FCP’s parking lot.”

“And?”

“And the chief put the heat on us to make some arrests over there, to get the media and the public off his back. Sinclair just happened to be one of the lucky ones. Tried to sell me thirty-five Oxy. All on tape. Legit bust. End of story.”

“That’s a lot of dope, enough to put him away for a long time. So, what did Sinclair agree to do for you to avoid having a record?”

“He sang like a canary at the station. Scared out of his mind he’d lose his job. He fingered a few mid-level guys and one high-level dealer we put away for twenty-five to life, and the State dropped his case. Period. End of story.”

“But then the canary ends up with two holes in his body, one in his head and one where his prick used to be. Don’t you think it might raise questions about who it was who might have wanted him dead not named Zoe Slim? Did you check out other higher-ups in Sinclair’s network? They would’ve had a good reason to want him dead if they found out he was cooperating.”

“No need.” He clasps his hands behind his head. “We have the murder weapon. Bullets in the body matching the gun. And fingerprints. Your client’s fingerprints. And to wrap it all in a neat package, we’ve got the threatening texts. Why would we even think about crawling down another rat hole?”

“Zoe’s the obvious choice. No need to look at anyone else. Kind of sloppy police work, don’t you think? Especially since you had to know your confidential informant Mr. Sinclair got himself arrested again during the time he was working for you, working off his bad behavior to keep it on the down low.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What? No. That’s not true.”

“Oh yes, it is.”

“If he was arrested again, it wasn’t us.”

“If? I assure you there’s no ifs about this. Same facts, different pill mill. Ring any bells?”

A definitive shake of the head. “No way. What agency?”

“And, as luck would have it, while I was doing my field research, I happened to bump into,” I pause, “wait for it…Serena Price.”

“The girl who found the body?”

“One and the same. Thing is, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why a key witness against my client, the same person who found the dead guy, is a customer at the same place you arrested the victim. Now what are the chances?”

“Coincidence, I guess.”

I crack my knuckles. “You know what coincidences mean to me, Sonny?”

“No, I don’t. What do they mean to you, Grace?”

“Coincidences are explanations used by liars. They mean the real story, the truth, is a lot more complicated.”

“Shit, Sinclair could’ve been Pablo Escobar and Serena his right-hand man, and it wouldn’t matter for shit for your client. Do the best job you can for Zoe Slim and move on. Sometimes you can win more by losing. Her case has already boosted your profile. You’ll hook some other sleazeball clients with deep pockets on the heels of this one. Besides, when your guilty client goes down, you’ll be able to sleep at night. You won’t have to worry about walking a murderer.”

I stand and face him. “Maybe, but what keeps me up nights are the ones who didn’t do it.”

“Come on, you think she’s innocent? Don’t let the pressure mess with your head.” He points at me. “And most of all, don’t let the kid play you.”

I look up at the full moon, a ghostly cloud drifting over its face. “I’ll try not to.”

He reaches out a hand and, gently, strokes the tattoo on the top half of my left arm. “Between the service and the job, I’ve seen a lot of tattoos, but never another one like yours. Me, I got your standard eagle when I was in the Navy.”

He hops over the sea wall onto the sidewalk. “I’ll be seeing you in court, Counselor.”

“That’s one thing we can both count on,” I say, but my words are drowned out by the waves crashing onshore.

Walking home, I stroke my tattoo, my mind drifting across the chrystalline waters to Stiltsville. The place I want to be buried. At sea. At peace. I wanted there to be no doubt.

Chapter 27

Vinnie’s customary knock. Four times: three hard, one soft. “Mail call. Open up.”

The sight of the large envelope causes my heart drops faster than an anchor in calm seas.

“The FedEx guy left this for you.”

I stare at the envelope as if