Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Walter muttered something low and indistinct.
Laurel looked at him and swallowed. “Walter, this is too much for you. I can take care of it.”
“No. The least I can do for the kid is figure out who might’ve wanted him dead.”
“All right,” Tyler’s voice piped up from the screen, almost giddy. “Now, here’s the evidence I have, and let me tell you, the corruption goes deeper than this.” His grin widened. “Not only are these two having an affair, and keep in mind they’re both married to somebody else, but they’re taking bribes.”
The screen cut to a series of grainy photos of Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson entering motels at all hours, their bodies angled close. One of Officer Jackson’s hands brushing Detective Robertson’s arm as they walked into a run-down building off Route 8, and one of Detective Robertson’s hands on her lower back as they crossed a parking lot together.
They weren’t looking over their shoulders, but as cops, surely they became suspicious?
“It seems like they prefer motels with bad lighting and nobody asking questions,” Tyler said, his voice a strained whisper. “But they should’ve been asking themselves some questions. Like who’s been recording their little meetings.”
The screen flickered again. More clips, all marked with time stamps Tyler had added himself. The kind of meticulous, obsessive detail that suggested he’d spent hours combing through footage, stringing it all together.
There was footage showing Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson laughing together in a diner parking lot. Of them walking out of a bar just after midnight, heads bent close, Officer Jackson’s fingers tangled in Detective Robertson’s sleeve. Then several more clips of the two kissing passionately in Officer Jackson’s patrol car.
Tyler’s voice slid into something darker. “Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson. Always sneaking around, always keeping it quiet. Maybe they’re just screwing around. But what if it’s more than that?”
The screen shifted to poorly framed footage of Detective Robertson meeting with men Laurel didn’t recognize. One man had greasy black hair and a twitchy, nervous stance. Another older, heavyset man had sharp eyes that scanned his surroundings before he handed the detective a tightly wrapped package.
“Detective Robertson meets these guys all over town, and every time, there’s something exchanged. Packages. Envelopes. Information.” Tyler’s voice rose. “Not once does he report it.”
Tyler cut between images quickly, slamming together proof of the affair with clips of the detective accepting packages and passing envelopes to the unknown men. Laurel’s eyes narrowed as she tracked the pattern Tyler had clumsily mapped.
“Whatever they’re into,” Tyler continued, his voice crackling, “it’s bigger than an affair. This is corruption. Dirty money. Information leaks. And I’m going to prove it.”
Laurel glanced at Walter. “We need to identify those people.”
Walter grunted. “And figure out what’s in those packages.” His voice had gone rough, his attention locked on the screen. “I told Tyler’s dad’s secretary that I’d like to attend a funeral if there is one, and she said that she’d get back to me. I’m not counting on it.”
“I’m sorry, Walter.” Laurel returned her attention to the screen.
Walter scrolled through more of the scattered recordings.
Tyler’s voice came through again, frenzied but deliberate. “It’s not just Robertson and Jackson having their dirty little fling. They’re part of something bigger. So much bigger. I almost have the evidence. There’s an attack coming, my friends.”
Walter paused the recording, his hand steady on the remote. “An attack.”
Laurel didn’t like guesswork. “That’s what Sandra was talking about.”
“Yep.” Walter shut off the video, the sudden silence thick and heavy. “Remember that he was dramatic.”
Laurel scribbled a quick note. “I know.”
“But he also was pretty good at his job,” Walter muttered. “What attack was he talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Laurel’s pen hovered over her notepad. “But Tyler thought he was onto something, and if he was right, it might’ve gotten him killed. Also, I’d have to guess Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson weren’t exactly happy with him.”
“It’s odd they didn’t mention this,” Walter said. “Robertson and Jackson. Tyler was tracking them, harassing them. How in the world did they not notice? They’re both cops.”
“I agree,” Laurel said, reaching for the remote for the wide-screen plasma on the far wall. “Let’s look at the last few of Tyler’s posted podcasts.” She hit play.
The footage rolled, Tyler rattling off about crop dustings in farming areas close to Everett. His excitement bled through his words as he described strange patterns appearing in the fields after the planes passed over. “Aliens, folks. They’re here, and they’re blending in.” Tyler’s grin was wide, eyes gleaming. “They’re posing as policemen. Enforcers of the law. And one of them is none other than Seattle Councilman Eric Swelter.”
Walter snorted. “If anybody’s an alien, it’s that jackass.”
Laurel tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. She’d dealt with Swelter in a previous case, and the term jackass truly did fit. “I always figured if we were visited by other life forms, they’d be a lot smarter than us since they could get here somehow.”