Page 36 of Hey, Daddy

Which still chapped my fucking ass.

“Literally ripping my fuckin’ heart out,” I said. “I can hear her crying through the wall.”

“Who’d she call to get the dog out for her?” he wondered.

He was right.

There was no way that she was picking him up.

“She used her cart thing.” I rubbed at my face.

“The one she ordered online when she didn’t get the old one back?” he asked.

“Yep.” I sighed. “Rolled him out with a baby blanket covering him like he was sleeping. Some man that was running down the road stopped to help her get him into that POS Jeep.”

She was still driving the Jeep because, like her cart, her car was still impounded to be used as evidence.

I’d seen her make two car payments on it and not complain to anyone about it in the last month, which only solidified my assurance that she was not the bad guy in this scenario.

Who wouldn’t complain about making car payments on a car that they couldn’t use? I know that I would.

“Any luck on the lead you tracked down?” I asked.

“No,” he sighed. “The body they found in the Amazon box in Chicago was a disgruntled husband who decided to vacuum seal his fake doll and ship it to Amazon with a note that said ‘you’re next’ in it because they refused to give him his money back on a broken chair he’d purchased.”

“Great,” I sighed. “I followed up again with the night manager. After we watched all of the footage, I was able to talk to the man that’d moved the box into the locker. He didn’t see anything suspicious. I tracked the package all theway back to the original facility. The facility gave me access to the entire process, and the ice maker that was packed in that box was actually an ice maker. The box was completely sealed, not opened, and nothing disturbed, when the man packed it. So whatever happened to the senator’s side piece happened between being packaged and it arriving at the facility where she picked it up. I’ve followed up with all of the drivers from there to here. All of them report that they don’t remember, and I tend to believe them. After hearing of the thousands of packages they distribute and move a week, I can see it.”

“I was hoping for more,” he grumbled.

“Me, too,” I confirmed.

He sighed. “I’m headed to lunch. What are you up to today?”

“A little more legwork,” I answered as I stood up and stretched my arms up high over my head. “Headed to the packaging facility again. I want to get a look around, see how many people handle a certain package over the course of a day.”

“I’m headed to the brewery that’s behind the packaging facility around four. I have a dentist appointment before that,” he said. “Catch you later.”

He left, and I snatched my shoulder holster and my badge and tucked them into place.

Heading to the door, I went straight to the packaging facility, and met the woman who’d agreed to show me around at the back door at our designated time.

“You ready for the chaos?” she asked.

“More than ever,” I confirmed.

Two hours later, I was absolutely sure that this was going to be harder than ever.

I was stunned with just how hard it was to follow one single package.

And the amount of people, and packages, and everything in a facility…it was nuts.

Anyone could’ve gotten to that package at any given time.

Nobody cared what happened to the package once it left their sight.

Even worse, there were so many fucking packages of the same size and shape that if you weren’t actively reading the label, it would be easy to lose for a few short minutes—or hours—if someone was determined enough.

I left with the understanding that anyone determined enough could’ve gotten to the package and done whatever they wanted with it.

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