Page 29 of Dead Air
"Those items could compromise?—"
"What?" Rachel interrupted. "The investigation you claim never stopped? The justice you promised five years ago?"
The kitchen fell silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. A clock ticked from the adjacent living room. Somewhere upstairs, pipes knocked as water moved through old plumbing.
"You promised to find who killed her." Rachel's voice dropped lower. "You stood at her funeral and told me you wouldn't rest until someone paid. Yet here we are."
"The evidence?—"
"Maybe this podcaster will succeed where you failed." Rachel turned away, staring out the kitchen window at her backyard."Maybe she actually cares about truth more than protecting fellow officers."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" Rachel spun back, color rising in her cheeks. "Fair would be my sister attending Ellie's birthday parties. Fair would be Monica walking her niece to school. Fair would be growing old together instead of visiting a granite headstone."
Lawson absorbed the anger without defense. Rachel deserved her rage after five years of unanswered questions.
"Monica changed before she died." Rachel continued into the silence. "Last few weeks, she barely called. Missed Sunday dinner twice. Seemed distracted when she did visit."
"The Rafferty case consumed her." Lawson offered the explanation she'd accepted years ago.
"More than that." Rachel shook her head. "She seemed paranoid. Checked her car before driving. Kept the blinds closed at her apartment. Jumped when her phone rang."
Rachel paused, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "It was strange though—Monica had always struggled with money, student loans and mom's medical bills, but those last few months she seemed more relaxed about finances. Even mentioned taking a vacation once everything settled down. I never understood where that confidence came from."
"Did she explain why?"
"She said she couldn't trust anyone." Rachel met Lawson's gaze directly. "Not even you."
Lawson shook her head in shock. Monica's lack of trust contradicted everything Lawson believed about their relationship—professional and personal. Despite their fight, despite the distance during those final weeks, she'd never doubted their fundamental connection.
"That doesn't make sense." Lawson stood, needing movement to process this revelation. "We were partners for three years. We trusted each other with our lives."
Rachel opened a drawer and removed a small notebook bound in blue leather. "Found this after the funeral. Her personal journal. Most entries discuss cases or department politics."
She slid it across the counter. Lawson recognized it immediately. Monica carried it everywhere, jotting observations or questions that occurred during investigations. Private thoughts that never entered official reports.
"Read the last entry." Rachel nodded toward the notebook. "Three days before she died."
Lawson opened the journal with unsteady hands. Monica's handwriting filled the final pages—tight, precise letters that slanted slightly right. Lawson found the date Rachel indicated and began reading.
Meeting Ray Hutchinson tonight. Claims high-level connection to Rafferty operation. Something about him makes me uneasy. Too smooth. Too eager to help. But his information checks out so far. Money trail through offshore accounts matches what I already found. Haven't told E. We're still not talking. Better this way if things go sideways.
The entry stopped there. No elaboration on Hutchinsons’ identity. No explanation about why he made her uncomfortable. No details about what information he'd already provided.
"She never mentioned Ray Hutchinson." Lawson looked up from the journal. "Never told me about these meetings."
"Because you two weren't speaking." Rachel's words carried finality rather than accusation now. "She said you had some kind of falling out. Wouldn't tell me details, but she was upset about it."
Lawson closed the journal. Guilt twisted her insides. Their fight about going public with their relationship had created the distance that ultimately left Monica vulnerable. "May I borrow this?"
"Keep it." Rachel glanced at the clock above the stove. "I gave Blackwell copies of everything except that. Couldn't part with Monica's actual handwriting."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me." Rachel gathered her purse and keys from a hook by the door. "Just find who killed her. Five years is long enough to wait for justice."
Lawson followed her to the entryway. Family photos watched their passage—frozen smiles from happier times when Monica still breathed and laughed and planned her future.
