but…” Brad’s voice trailed off into silence as he studied other photos of Martino Viejo looking chummy with other influential types.
“Dawson’s son?” Brad took a closer look at the picture of Viejo and the lieutenant governor’s oldest son.
Greg tugged on his earlobe. “The man himself’s in a few, as well,” he said in reference to Lieutenant Governor Logan Dawson.
Brad whistled. “Impressive list.” He tossed the photo back to the coffee table. “Makes it even more pressin’ for us to find out who’s behind this ASAP.”
“We’re just now finishing up documenting all the photos,” Greg explained, grimacing toward the evidence boxes. “They’ll be on the way to the lab soon, but there’s more here than snapshots, boss. With your permission, I’d like to request extra help to go through it all.”
“Well, what else have you found?”
“Boxes of journals from his garage.” Greg scratched at the thinning hair at the crown of his head. “A lot of water-rotted crap. It’ll be a tedious task pullin’ anything off those pages—may take a while.”
“I understand. All right, then, pick your people and I’ll sign off on it.” Brad leaned back on the sofa, his eyes narrowed toward his second in command. “Somethin’ else on your mind, Captain?”
Greg gave a jerky nod to the other detective in the room. “Bring Floyd and Cooper in here,” he instructed and then went to sit in the chair opposite Brad. “Boxes on the counter are filled with CDs and dictated cassette tapes. We haven’t listened in and they still need to be dusted, but given the circles this guy runs in, there may be stuff that needs to be handled delicately…”
“And?” Brad nodded when Greg watched him expectantly.
“Well, sir, I, um. Maybe you’d want to handle it yourself, given…”
“Given my friendship with the Melendez family.” Brad grimaced.
“Sir, this thing already stinks to high heaven.” Greg leaned forward, mimicking Brad, who sat with his elbows on his knees. “Who knows what we’ll find in that stuff?” He gave another jerky nod to the counter.
“Thank you for caring, son.” Brad fixed Greg with an earnest look. “Friendships are the last things I’m tryin’ to preserve just now. Grab anybody you can spare from other cases and put ’em on this, all right?”
Greg nodded once and stood. “I’ll send someone in for this stuff.”
Alone in the office, Brad flexed his hands still encased in the latex. He tilted his head at an odd angle when he noticed Martino Viejo in pictures with Dan Melendez and board chairman Lucas Anton.
Turning his gaze toward the boxes on the counter, Brad groaned and fell back against the sofa.
* * *
Avra waited quietly, watching Sam at the coffee table browsing her file on Wade Cornelius. “See anything interesting?” she asked when he looked her way.
“You’ve been busy,” he commended.
Avra set down the bag she’d packed. “Aren’t you the one always telling me I have no life except for being a slave driver to my staff and giving you a hard time?” She tugged at the long, lightweight scarf around her neck and shrugged. “Guess that leaves me lots of time for conducting homegrown investigations into unsolved crimes.”
“But Wade Cornelius died of natural causes.”
“Did he, now?”
“These papers tell you otherwise?” Sam shook some of the pages in question.
“Don’t know.” Avra batted the fringes of the scarf back and forth against her palms. “So far they’ve only served to give me a massive headache. Wade’s notes were all over the place.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s sleek brows drew close in mild criticism as he scanned the journalist’s haphazard method of note taking. “Probably a writer’s thing,” he reasoned.
“Humph.” Avra eased her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Maybe that’s why I was always so bad at it.”
Grinning easily, Sam’s gaze slid back to the page he held. His eyes narrowed, and after a moment, he tilted his head and drew the sheet closer.
“You find something?” Avra pulled her hands from her pockets and moved to the sofa in order to peer across his shoulder.
“Do you know what this is?” Sam was brushing his index finger across a number.
“Uh-uh, but I’ve come across it more than once in his notes.” She sat on the back of the sofa. “I feel like I should know what it is, though.”
Sam nodded while massaging his jaw. “Me, too,” he said.
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