Page 24 of Dead Air
The unexpected suggestion threw her. Conference Room B offered controlled conditions, even witnesses if Parks became adversarial. Recording equipment if needed. The coffee shop meant civilians, background noise, unpredictable variables.
It also meant Parks couldn't secretly record their conversation using precinct equipment.
"Let me grab my jacket." She gathered her files while weighing possibilities. Either Parks genuinely preferred honest conversation in neutral territory, or this represented a calculated tactic to lower her defenses.
They walked in professional silence. Parks matched his stride to hers without apparent effort. His gaze swept the street with military vigilance—corners, rooflines, vehicles. The habit of a man who'd spent time in combat zones.
Perimeter Coffee occupied a narrow storefront between a bookshop and a vintage clothing store. Edison bulbs hung from exposed ceiling beams. The espresso machine hissed and gurgled behind a copper counter. College students hunched over laptops while professionals conducted quiet meetings at corner tables.
Parks claimed a booth near the back exit. "Ethiopian dark roast, black. Detective?"
"Americano, room for cream." She slid into the booth opposite him, arranging her files as a barrier between them.
He returned minutes later with steaming mugs and a small plate with two chocolate croissants. "Owner adds cocoa to the pastry dough. Worth the calories."
The casual approach continued to unbalance her expectations. Internal Affairs typically maintained a formal distance. Parks behaved more like a colleague than an investigator.
"Your file says eight years with SPD." Parks opened the top folder after settling in. "Last five in homicide after your partner's death. Three commendations. Four citations for excessive force. Two for insubordination."
"My greatest hits." She sipped her coffee—significantly better than precinct sludge. "I expected more formality from Internal Affairs."
"Formality serves paperwork, not truth." Parks studied her over his mug. "This situation needs careful handling."
"Which situation? A podcast airing sealed evidence or the department's panic response?"
He almost smiled. "Both qualify." He pulled several papers from his folder. "You understand why I've been assigned?"
"Department needs someone to control the narrative before Blackwell does."
"Close." Parks laid out documents in a neat row. "I need to determine if Blackwell possesses evidence that will embarrass the department, or merely speculation that can be dismissed."
His honesty startled her. IAB usually cloaked objectives behind procedure.
"My assignment includes reviewing the original investigation." Parks tapped the file. "Determining if proper protocols were followed."
"They weren't." The words escaped before she could filter them.
His eyebrows rose. "Explain."
Lawson considered her options. Parks offered either a genuine ally or a sophisticated trap. Either way, playing defense would accomplish nothing.
"Monica believed someone inside the department protected the Rafferty operation." She kept her voice low despite no one seeming to be paying any attention to them. "Before she could prove it, she was murdered. Afterward, the case went cold with remarkable speed."
Parks nodded but offered no immediate reaction. "When was the last time you reviewed the complete case file?"
"Five years ago. Before it went to storage." This much remained true while concealing her unauthorized copy.
"I pulled it yesterday." Parks extracted a page from his folder. "Evidence log shows forty-three items collected from the scene. Only twenty-seven received complete processing."
Lawson leaned forward. "Which sixteen items didn’t?"
"Soil samples from around the body. Partial shoe impressions from the loading dock. Paint chips from the floodlight housing. Shell casings found twenty yards from the primary scene." Parks slid the paper toward her. "All logged but never analyzed."
Her stomach tightened. She'd never seen this discrepancy. The case file copy she'd secretly maintained ended with a different evidence log—one showing all items processed.
"Someone altered my copy." The realization escaped aloud.
"Your copy?"
