Page 43 of Dead Air
Lawson considered how much to reveal. The storage unit discovery remained too volatile to fully share. "Monica left files. Documentation of department corruption. Officers taking payoffs from criminal organizations."
"Where are these files now?"
"Secure location." The partial truth came easier than expected. "But they don't explicitly name Ray Hutchinson. I need departmental records to connect him to the cases Monica investigated."
Claire closed her briefcase with twin snaps. "If such evidence exists, Blackwell likely has it already. Her resources clearly exceed yours."
"But her motives don't align with justice." Lawson moved toward the door. "She's building a story that serves her backers, not the truth."
Her phone chimed with a notification. Dead Air Productions:Episode Five: "The Officer's Statement" drops tomorrow at 9 AM. What Detective Lawson told authorities... and what she didn't.
Lawson's stomach tightened. The episode title suggested Blackwell had obtained her official statement from the night Monica died. The statement where she'd omitted critical details—their relationship, her drinking before the meeting, the fight that had separated them those final weeks.
"Problem?" Claire asked, noting her expression.
"Tomorrow's episode." Lawson showed her the screen. "Blackwell's focusing on inconsistencies in my statement to authorities."
"Painting you as an unreliable witness or potential suspect?"
"Either of which destroys my credibility." Lawson pocketed her phone. "Twenty-four hours just became more urgent."
chapter
seventeen
Lawson's phonerang at 6:17 a.m., the shrill tone yanking her from the gray haze of restless sleep. Parks' number flashed on the screen. She swiped to answer, propping herself up on one elbow, voice rough from disuse.
"Parks, thanks for getting back to me so quick."
A heavy pause stretched across the line, thick with something unspoken, before his voice cut through, edged with gravel. "Sorry to say, Detective, it's not about that. And it's not good news. Ray Hutchinson is dead. Ridgewood Apartments. Unit 307."
She bolted upright, sheets tangling around her legs as the fog of exhaustion shattered. "What the hell? How?"
"Gunshot wound. Single bullet to the temple. Service weapon found in his hand."
"Suicide?"
"That's the official narrative." Something in Parks' tone suggested doubt. "Note left on the kitchen counter. Confession to Monica Landry's murder."
Lawson swung her feet to the floor, the phone pressed against her ear. "I'll be there in twenty."
"Make it fifteen. ME removes the body at seven."
The line went dead. Lawson dressed in yesterday's clothes, splashed water on her face, and grabbed her keys. The drive to Ridgewood Apartments took twelve minutes through empty early morning streets. The upscale complex near Forsyth Park housed several officers and city officials. Ray Hutchinson had lived well on a detective's salary.
Police vehicles lined the entrance. Curious neighbors clustered behind yellow tape, cell phones raised to capture the activity. Lawson badged the uniform at the perimeter, who checked her ID against the clearance list before lifting the tape.
The elevator smelled of artificial pine. The third floor hallway buzzed with activity. Crime scene techs moved between the apartment and their equipment cases. Uniformed officers kept curious residents back. Parks stood outside Unit 307, leather notebook open in his hands.
"His captain found him after he missed morning briefing and didn't respond to calls." Parks led her inside without preamble. "Hutchinson never failed to show up or call in before. Time of death between midnight and three a.m."
The apartment revealed expensive taste. Leather furniture. Original artwork. Hardwood floors with Persian rugs. A detective's salary stretched through outside income or family money.
The kitchen counter held an evidence marker beside a handwritten note secured in a plastic sleeve. Lawson read it without touching it.
I killed Monica Landry. The guilt has become unbearable. She threatened to expose our relationship and my connection to Rafferty. I arranged the meeting, set up the floodlight, and waited. I never meant for it to happen this way. I'm sorry.
"Ballistics processing the weapon?" Lawson asked.
