Page 14 of Dead Air
"Water, then." He poured himself two fingers of amber liquid without adding ice. "Why are you here, Lawson?"
She remained standing while he settled into the leather chair behind his desk. "You've heard the podcast."
"Everyone's heard it." He took a measured sip. "Judge Byrd called me this afternoon. Said she's filing an injunction."
"The tape shouldn't exist outside the department." Lawson's hands clenched at her sides. "Someone pulled it from archives."
"And you think I know who."
"You were captain when Monica died. You controlled access to evidence."
Richardson set his glass down with careful precision. "Five years since Landry's murder, and this is the first time you've darkened my doorstep. Now a podcast airs your radio call, and suddenly you need answers from me?"
The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. "I need to know how Blackwell got that recording."
"So do I." Richardson leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "I had nothing to do with this, Erin."
Her first name hung between them. A rarity from a man who called everyone by their last name regardless of rank or relationship.
"Then who did?" Lawson moved closer to the desk. "Only senior officers have access to sealed evidence. You, Walsh, Diaz, maybe Freeman."
"And two dozen clerks, IT specialists, and administrators." Richardson's jaw tightened. "Digital archives aren't my specialty. I retired, remember?"
"Convenient timing. Right after the Rafferty case closed due to 'insufficient evidence.'"
He didn't flinch. "My retirement had nothing to do with Rafferty or Landry."
"Monica thought someone inside was protecting Rafferty's operation. She was killed before she could prove it."
"And you've spent five years trying to prove the conspiracy theory of a dead cop." The edge in Richardson's voice could have cut glass. "How's that working out for you?"
Richardson paused, swirling the bourbon in his glass. "Monica was … complicated in those final weeks. Started asking questions about overtime pay structures. Whether officers could legitimately supplement their income through consulting work.It made me wonder what kind of financial pressure she was under."
Lawson's nails dug into her palms hard enough to leave marks. "You reassigned the case after she died. Buried it under administrative transfer orders. Why?"
"Because you were too close." Richardson stood, his height advantage forcing Lawson to look up. "Your partner was murdered, and you wanted blood. That's not investigating. That's revenge."
"I wanted justice."
"You wanted someone to pay for your guilt." His voice dropped lower. "I know what happened that night, Lawson. The real story."
Ice formed in her veins. "What are you talking about?"
"You think I didn't know you were drinking before you met Landry at that warehouse?" Richardson's eyes never left hers. "The responding officers smelled it on your breath. Patrol sergeant noted it in his initial report."
The room tilted sideways. Lawson steadied herself against the bookshelf. "That's not in the official file."
"Because I removed it." Richardson circled the desk, closing the distance between them. "I protected you. Kept your career intact when half the force wanted you suspended or worse."
"Why?"
"Because losing your partner was punishment enough." A shadow crossed his features. "And because the department couldn't afford the scandal of a detective showing up drunk to a meet that got her partner killed."
All these years, she'd carried her secret alone, and Richardson had known from the beginning.
"You buried evidence." The accusation scraped her throat raw.
"I made a judgment call." Richardson returned to his desk, picking up his bourbon. "One that saved your badge and probably your life."
