Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Joey Hopkins was no cop,” Chubb grits out.
I raise my eyebrows. “So you did know him.”
Chubb pins his lips shut. Yeah, he’s stepped in it.
“You should have let Agent Jarvis finish,” I say. “The federal government can seek the death penalty in the murder of a state or local law enforcement official or other person aiding in a federal investigation.”
Though we’ve yet to determine whether Joseph Hopkins was aiding in an investigation, my gut tells me he was ready to turn evidence. It won’t hurt to let Chubb think he could face capital punishment—even though it’s unlikely.
A guard knocks and then opens the door. “Public defender’s here,” he says.
A young woman dressed in black pants and a white shirt enters carrying a laptop. “I’m Joycelyn Akers.”
Jarvis stands and holds out his hand. “Special Agent Roy Jarvis. This is Special Agent Avery Marsh, and this is your client, Eugene Chubb.”
Akers takes a seat next to Chubb. “If you two will excuse us for a moment, I’d like to confer with my client in private.”
“Of course.” I rise and gather my things.
Jarvis grabs his laptop and we leave the room.
“What do you think?” Jarvis asks as we walk down the hallway.
“He knows a lot more than he’s letting on, for sure,” I say. “I want to know why that body ended up on Bridger land. From what I know about Jonathan Bridger, he’s not stupid enough to have someone killed and then tossed on his own property.”
To the contrary. Jonathan Bridger was shrewdly intelligent. And evil. I knew that personally. He fucked up my life plenty. If he were alive, I’d—
I don’t know what I’d do, but keeping me from Chance was brutal.
Jarvis nods. “I agree. There’s something we’re missing here.”
“We can check in with the EPA investigators, see what they’ve found. If that whistleblower is still talking.”
Jarvis sighs. “Didn’t you hear?”
I frown and slow. “Hear what?”
He stops beside me, faces me. “A memo came in earlier. The poor guy was found early this morning, toes up in his bathtub.”
Dead?
Early this morning. When I was in my motel room with Chance.
“Then Chubb had better talk,” I say, “because our links to Bridger and Racehorse Hauling are rapidly disappearing.”
We head to an open work area to wait. Jarvis leaves to get us a couple bottles of water and returns. I open mine and take a long sip, letting the liquid cool my parched throat. What a fucking day.
When my water is nearly drained, Ms. Akers approaches. “Mr. Chubb is ready to talk,” she says.
I glance to Jarvis. “This should be interesting,” I murmur.
Returning to the interrogation room, we take our places across from Chubb and the attorney to hear what he has to say.
16
CHANCE
* * *
Unreal.
Fucking unreal.
The Journal of Business Ethics is hooked by a simple string to a gate latch on the other side. So simple…and I never knew it was here.
How could I? I never come in here.
The small room is dark except for the light trailing in from my father’s office. I scan the wall, find a light switch, and a fluorescent bulb bathes the room in harsh white light.
Boxes. Mountains of cardboard boxes.
God damn.
If my father was hiding anything, it’s in this windowless room.
But where to begin?
The space itself isn’t large—maybe twelve by twelve feet—but the boxes are piled floor to ceiling and about four rows deep.
Does Shankle know about this place? I doubt it. Shankle was my father’s personal attorney for the ranching side of his business, and he swears everything was run by the book. I don’t have any reason to believe otherwise, as I’ve had a hand in that business for the last fifteen years. I’ve worked the ranch. I’ve seen the books.
No. I won’t find anything about the ranch in here.
If Shankle’s shady, he wouldn’t have kept these boxes here to be found. Sure, I lived in the house my entire life and never knew it existed, but hiding the evidence to crimes here? With my father dead, Shankle would be the one to go to jail if he’d helped.
I gave Miles and Austin both the day off, and that must have been divine providence because I need to be alone for this. Everything here happened before them. Before our father died. I need to work through it all on my own, get my head around everything because I was here, living, working while whatever shit he did occurred right under my nose.
He wasn’t just an asshole and a shitty father, he was a criminal. Who would keep a hidden room if he didn’t have shady shit to hide?
I pull the nearest box down from a stack I can reach and lift the lid. Stacked manila folders with no notation as to their contents. No notation on the box either, until I look closely. Written by hand in small letters that are hidden by the lid when the box is closed is the name Diana Lovering.