Page 38 of 3rd Tango
“IDs” The cop holds up what looks like a bunch of credit cards and maybe driver’s licenses. “All with different names. Frank Murdoch, Jeff Racine, Mel Watkins.”
Of course he has fake IDs. He’s a private investigator. Call them tools of the trade when he’s working a case.
I dare not say it though because the way this cop has keyed in on them indicates he’s not about to let Matt slide on having them.
Not with the rampant identity fraud plaguing citizens.
“Okay, Mr. Stephens. Or Mr. Racine. Or is it Watkins?”
“It’s Stephens,” Matt says.
The cop tosses the IDs back in the briefcase and snaps it closed again. “I guess we’ll see about that. Both of you, hands behind your back. You’re coming with me.”
After recruiting my sister’s boyfriend for help and being cleared by the cops, I’m escorted to the lobby of the police station. Matt must still be inside, leaving me nothing to do but wait. I glance around at the benches along either wall.
As lobbies go, this isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but it could use a fresh coat of paint to liven up the dull white. Given the age of the building—I’m guessing somewhere around a hundred—the marble might be original.
For a few seconds, I stand there studying the veins in the floor and simply breathe. I’m exhausted, strung out and will no doubt face Charlie’s wrath for dragging JJ into this mess.
Banner day.
Voices bring me from my mini-meditation. An officer has just handed the woman behind the glass wall a stack of paperwork.
I nod and she offers me a bland smile.
Oh, the things she must see in a day.
If I’m stuck here, I might as well sit. I set my bag on one of the walnut benches along the wall and drop, resting my head back. A nap would do me some good. Maybe a quick mediation while I wait on Matt.
Before I can close my eyes, I spot the bulletin board on the opposite wall. It’s covered with flyers and posters for area events. A car seat safety check, fire department fundraiser, what looks like press releases and the requisite most-wanted posters.
My mind drifts back to Jerome, my love, sitting across from me in the conference room, studying files. Did anything beat a supportive man?
I don’t think so. As looney as the Schock family is, Jerome rolls with it. A gift for sure.
Most wanted.
I lift my head, my eye zooming in on one of the posters.
Ohmygod.
I snap to, rifling through my bag for my phone. Come on, come on, where are you?
Something niggles and as I dig, I glance to where the woman behind the wall eyes me.
If she thought I was nuts before, I must look like a flat-out psycho right now. Psycho. Police station.
I force a smile that hopefully conveys my lack of wanting to blow up the building. “I just remembered something,” I say. “I need to call my sister.”
She nods, but I’m still seeing a boatload of this-chick-might-be-dangerous in her eyes.
Whatever.
My fingers brush something hard—got it. I whip out my phone and hit Charlie’s name.
“Where the hell are you?” She asks.
“Police station. I’ll explain later. I think I know who Evelyn is.”
