Page 32 of The Writer

There’s no mention until chapter thirteen, then it’s everywhere. Like a dog on a scent, Morrow chases, corners, latches on. It starts with the same text message he’d found at the evidence locker:

Why didn’t they find Lucero’s prints onUnderstanding Anatomy and Physiology?His prints were on all the other books. Why not that one? Explain that!

Denise Morrow went on to say she didn’t know who’d sent the message initially, and when she finally learned who was behind it, she understood the secrecy and agreed to protect theperson’s anonymity. She claimed this was her first source, but she’d picked up others. She said she had no trouble finding people who believed Detective Declan Shaw had just as much to hide as Ruben Lucero, maybe more.

Fuck.

Declan looks down at his phone again. Cordova’s number is still on the screen. This time he does dial.

“What the hell you thinking?” Cordova barks after Declan tells him what he found. “Unless that book has ties to the death of her husband, you shouldn’t be digging around in it. Might as well draw a bull’s-eye on your chest. IT pulls the logs from Morrow’s computer, they’ll see you digging around in there.”

“It’s a copy. Nobody knows. Calm down.”

Cordova is quiet for several seconds, then says, “What number did the text come from?”

Declan loads the picture he took back at the evidence locker and reads the number to him.

“I’ll see if I can get someone to run it quietly.”

“Maybe I should do it,” Declan says. “Barksdale in IT owes me.”

“I’ll do it. You don’t want to be anywhere near this. Not with Harrison sniffing around.”

Declan takes another sip of beer. “You think he sent it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“She was talking to him too.”

“How do you know?”

“I found a phone number for him in her notes.”

Cordova sighs. Finally he says, “You let me deal with this and Harrison. You stay on Morrow. She goes to jail for killing her husband, nobody will care about that damn book.”

Cordova hangs up.

The apartment seems oddly quiet.

When Declan drops his phone back on the coffee table, he spots the list of restaurants Susan Reynolds gave them, Denise Morrow’s favorites.

Cordova is right—there is more than one way to shut this down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DECLAN FINDS DENISE Morrow at the third restaurant on Susan’s list, an Asian bistro called Flaming Sun that serves hibachi and sushi and is within walking distance of her Central Park West apartment. He’d learned earlier in the day that she’d already moved back in. Geller Hoffman had arranged for some crime scene cleanup company called Aftermath to come in and erase all traces of what happened to her husband. Cordova called Saffi, but she said there was nothing she could do. Her boss was riding her to drop the charges, and they couldn’t keep the apartment locked down forever. Without new evidence, she had to agree to the location release. There was a bright side—Saffi also said if theymanaged to make the case stick, the fact that Denise Morrow moved back in so fast wouldn’t play well with the jury. Not much solace, but something.

Declan isn’t the only one who’s found her. Two photographers are busy snapping pictures through the front window with long lenses. A reporter Declan recognizes from Fox 5 is fixing her hair as her cameraman sets up on the sidewalk.

His head low, avoiding eye contact, Declan brushes by them and goes inside. Denise Morrow is alone at a table in the back corner, glasses on, lost in a stack of pages next to her half-eaten meal.

The maître d’ steps into Declan’s path near the hostess station. “Sir? Do you have a reservation?”

“I’m meeting someone.” Declan skirts around the man and beelines for Morrow’s table.

She doesn’t look up from her work until he takes the seat across from her, and when she does lift her head, she doesn’t appear surprised to see him. She gives him a cursory glance, returns to the pages, and scribbles something in the margin. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“Provide a written confession so I can get to bed early tonight.”

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