Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Distance will help. I need to find ways to sever our connection, not continue it.
And there’s no reason my heart should sink at the thought.
“Coffee?” Ivan offers. I nod absently, and he keys something in on the tablet affixed to his dash. At the next light, he rolls down the window and accepts two paper cups from a street vendor. “Gino makes the good stuff. Do you need cream or sugar?”
“I’m good. Thank you.” The coffee is amazing, delicious, and potent. The caffeine starts working right away, making me feel a little better. I shift the papers to the side so I don’t spill coffee on them.
“If you get sick of reading all that, I also got today’s paper.” Ivan holds it up. I’m about to decline when I see the headline. Wealthy businessman’s murder solved is exclaimed in big, bold font. The coffee sloshes in my stomach, turning sour. I find a cupholder for the cup, grab the paper, and spread it out.
“CEO of Martin Shipping found to have ties to a local street gang,” begins the lede. There are full-color photos of Gregory Martin and the two other victims, Joey Daniels and Adam Devida, as they were in life. The article spins an elaborate tale of corruption, illegal dealings, and murder. According to this, Martin shared close ties with a bunch of thugs running a meth lab, and they stabbed him in a drug deal gone wrong. More gang violence that followed resulted in the deaths of Daniels and Devida.
It makes no sense, but supposedly there’s evidence; witnesses who claim they saw Martin meeting with gang members. There’s also a burner phone Martin supposedly used to contact the gang, threatening texts back and forth and everything, culminating in the night Martin was murdered.
The break in the case was finding the burner phone. “‘We discovered it in a special safe in Martin’s office,’ says Tony Cuccinelli.” The writers quote him as one of the lead detectives on the case.
Acid fills my mouth, and my face is numb, like I’m no longer inhabiting my body. Like none of this is real.
“Everything okay?” Ivan asks. I must look like I’m about to puke.
I can’t answer. I know Rex killed these men. He admitted it. I was supposed to gather proof. But now, out of nowhere, there’s all this evidence that Martin was killed by the same men who attacked me and that those men were killed by their own gang.
Bullshit. There’s just no way. This is Rex covering his tracks.
That window of opportunity just narrowed to the tiniest aperture, and with every word in this paper, I’m watching it disappear.
I keep reading, but it doesn’t get better. The article continues on page two with mug shots of the remaining members of the gang, now charged with the murders of Martin and two of their own.
“Did you read about this?” I hold the paper up so Ivan can see the headline in the rearview mirror. “The murder cases?”
“Uh, yeah. But not in the Times. The Post broke the story, too, and my old lady prefers to read that. And I saw a bit of it on the news.”
So, the media has swallowed the story. By tonight, it will be public knowledge.
The chance to nail Rex is gone.
“It was pretty bad, what that guy did,” Ivan says. “Trafficking those women.”
“What?” I flip the paper, and there it is, below the fold. The story of Martin’s ties to human trafficking. This article has a picture and the testimony of the woman Rex told me about last night, Iona Stipanov.
Rex has done it. He’s murdered three people and tied it up in a nice, neat bow. He planted evidence and probably leaked the story. Now that the truth about Martin is out, people will buy the story about him being tied to meth dealers. The gang will get blamed for everything. And I’m sure more evidence will turn up that will make the case against the gang members a slam dunk. They’ll all go to jail. And Rex will get away with everything.
You clean up the streets in your way; I do it in mine.
He thwarted the justice system in every possible way, pulling strings until he got what he wanted.
And I’m the only one who knows.
Damn him for doing this to me. Damn him for drawing me in, making me crave him. Revealing his secrets and leaving me as helpless as Cassandra, whose prophecies fell on deaf ears.
“Ms. Ramos?”
I blink and realize Ivan has called my name a few times. The car has come to a stop outside the police precinct.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I stuff everything, the newspaper and Mina’s files, into my bag. It might not matter if I spill coffee on the dossier after all.
I stride through the precinct halls and barely acknowledge the desk sergeant in my rush to get to the private room assigned to Gregory Martin’s case. I can feel everything I’ve fought for slipping from my fingers.