Page 27 of Dead Air
Parks placed the rose beside the granite marker and settled onto the small bench he'd installed nearby. The cemetery maintenance crew had grown accustomed to his presence, leaving him undisturbed during these visits.
"Still working the corruption cases, Bram." His voice carried clearly in the morning stillness. "Found another one. Detective named Lawson, lost her partner five years ago. Same pattern as yours."
The memory surfaced unbidden—Kowalski's final phone call, voice tight with excitement and fear.I found something, Eli. Evidence tampering going back years. Major cases thrownthrough deliberate mishandling. I'm taking it to Internal Affairs tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came for Bram Kowalski. Single-car accident on Highway 17, vehicle leaving the roadway at high speed and striking a tree. Alcohol was found in his system despite Kowalski being a teetotaler. The investigation closed within forty-eight hours as driver error due to impairment.
Parks had known immediately something was wrong. Kowalski's methodical nature extended to every aspect of his life. The man who organized his sock drawer by color didn't suddenly develop reckless driving habits. But Parks had been a patrol sergeant then, lacking authority to challenge the official findings.
"The evidence you found disappeared from your apartment before I could retrieve it," Parks continued aloud, processing thoughts through familiar ritual. "But you were smart. Always backed up important files. I found your secondary storage three months after the funeral." Kowalski's hidden drive contained meticulous documentation of evidence tampering across multiple cases. Drugs that vanished from lock-up before trial. Weapons that developed chain-of-custody gaps. Financial records that became corrupted or misfiled at crucial moments. The systematic manipulation of physical evidence to ensure specific outcomes.
Every compromised case involved defendants who walked free on technicalities that shouldn't have existed.
Parks had spent three years expanding Kowalski's investigation, methodically documenting the evidence tampering network while building his own case. The Internal Affairs transfer hadn't been punishment—it had been strategy. Access to more cases, broader authority, ability to examine patterns across multiple precincts.
"Someone's been manipulating evidence for years," Parks said. "You found the pattern but not the people behind it. High-profile criminal cases systematically weakened through evidence problems, then dismissed on technicalities."
The scope remained unclear, but the methodology was consistent. Cases that should have resulted in convictions instead ended in acquittals or plea bargains that kept dangerous criminals on the streets. The pattern suggested coordination rather than random corruption.
Parks opened his notebook, reviewing details he'd committed to memory years ago. "You identified the tampering but didn't live long enough to discover who was orchestrating it. You thought it was just a few dirty cops taking bribes. Didn't realize how deep it went."
A jogger passed on the nearby path, earbuds blocking out the world. Normal morning routine for someone whose partner hadn't been murdered for pursuing justice. Parks envied the simplicity while recognizing his own path had been chosen deliberately.
"Monica Landry discovered something similar." Parks turned to a fresh page, documenting new connections. "But she had resources you lacked. Should have made her safer."
Instead, it had made her a larger threat. Whatever she'd uncovered had escalated the stakes beyond local corruption into something worth killing to protect.
Parks stood, brushing cemetery dirt from his pants. "Lawson doesn't know about you yet. Doesn't realize her partner's death fits a pattern. When she's ready, I'll show her everything."
The decision felt inevitable. Kowalski's evidence provided historical context for the current investigation. Proof that Monica Landry's murder wasn't an isolated incident but part of a systematic elimination of threats to whatever network operated in Savannah's shadows.
"Your work mattered, Bram. Still matters." Parks touched the headstone once more before walking toward his car. "Going to finish what you started."
The morning had grown warmer, humidity building toward another sweltering Savannah day. Parks drove toward the precinct, Kowalski's evidence secure in his messenger bag alongside current case files. Past and present investigations converging toward a resolution that had been three years in development.
Kowalski's ghost could finally rest. After the corruption network fell and justice emerged from the wreckage, the debt to his murdered partner would be paid in full.
But first, there was work to do. Evidence to secure. Testimonies to gather. Cases to build that could survive legal challenges and political interference.
Parks merged into traffic, already planning his next conversation with Lawson. She needed to understand the scope of what they faced—not just Monica's individual murder, but systematic corruption that had been killing good cops for years.
The time for subtle investigation was ending. Someone had grown too bold, too confident in their protection. Kowalski's death had taught Parks patience. Monica's murder demanded action.
chapter
eleven
Lawson's phonechimed as she walked back toward the precinct. New email from an address she didn't recognize: [email protected].
Subject line: I Know Why She Was Killed
Her thumb hovered over the notification. Opening it meant engaging with Blackwell on the podcaster's terms. Ignoring it meant wondering what evidence might exist.
She deleted it without reading.
The walk back to the precinct took twelve minutes. She appreciated the solitude, needing space to process Parks’ revelations about evidence never analyzed and witnesses never re-interviewed.
Noon sun baked the pavement. Her blouse stuck to her back when she reached the precinct parking lot. The day stretched endlessly ahead—reports to file, witness statements to review for current cases, the looming shadow of Blackwell's podcast hanging over everything.
