through the rest of her shift.
Slate finished his wings with half a pitcher of tea still on his table. She’d dropped it off so he wouldn’t run out. He paid and was gone forty-five minutes before she finished up.
She grabbed her jacket and wished she’d brought a change of clothes. Having a serious, even unofficial conversation in the short, revealing T-shirt would be hard. She could keep her jacket on.
Sure. Coffee. That’s all this was. One Frappuccino and one question.
With the stupid hope that it would be another...and then another...
And then the reopening of her brother’s investigation and surely proving that he was innocent. No trial. They could go home.
Oh, my gosh. That was why she hadn’t let herself hope during the past year. One small peek at the possibility and she was back to leading a normal life in Florida. She couldn’t do this to herself and certainly couldn’t do it to her brother.
She hated...hope.
Meeting Vivian Watts at work seemed like a smart thing to do, until Slate remembered the waitress uniforms at the restaurant. But that was after he’d walked through the door and asked for her section. Immediately noticing how smoking hot she was stopped coherent thought.
And then she’d cried.
Mercy. He was just like any man wanting to do the right thing. He wanted her to stop crying.
He knew he could help make that happen. All he had to do was find a murderer.
Choosing a table in the far back corner of the coffee shop, he opened a file no one in the room should see. The chicken wings sat like a lump in his gut. Maybe the acid from the strong brew would help with the digestion. Good thing he didn’t have a weak stomach or he’d be losing it all by studying the murder scene pictures.
He wanted to help Vivian and Victor Watts. But it did all boil down to one question that no one had ever asked her brother.
“Officer.”
He flipped the file shut and stood, pushing back his chair. “You want something?”
“No. I’m fine.” Vivian sat and pulled her coat tighter.
It was sweltering hot inside the shop despite the November chill that hung outside. Well, she was wearing hot pants and half a T-shirt.
“It’s Slate. Lieutenant if this was official, but again, I can’t make any promises.”
“I stopped believing in promises about the time my brother was arrested for murder. Every promise that was made to us by the Dallas police was broken. And then there’s been the three court-appointed attorneys who promised they’d find the real murderer.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this experience. It doesn’t feel fair, but the evidence does point to your brother.”
“Spare me, Lieutenant. Until you’ve lost everything you’ve had and are about to see your only family convicted of murder in a state that has the death penalty... Please, just ask your question so I can go home.”
“Sure.” He opened the file to a copy of the murder victim’s journal entry. “Can you tell me if your brother ever participated in a study performed by Dr. Roberts?”
“The answer is already in your file. He was seeing her for a sleep disorder. Night terrors. Yes, he knew the victim. Yes, he had an appointment with her the day she was murdered. No, he’d never mentioned that he had a problem to me. No, he never mentioned wanting to kill anyone. No, he hasn’t been the same since he was discharged from the army.” She pushed away from the table. “Thank you for taking a look at Victor’s case. But I really have to get home—”
“Subject Nineteen. Was that your brother’s number?”
“What are you talking about?” She sank back onto the metal chair.
“No one’s ever mentioned how your brother was linked to the murder before?”
“All I know is that my brother was participating in a VA-approved sleep study sponsored by Dr. Kym Roberts. She was one of the doctors conducting the study where she was murdered.”
“That’s all in the file.”
“So what does this subject number mean?” It was actually the answer he wanted to hear.
Watts was a part of the study. The police had verified that much. But there was nothing in the file verifying he was Subject Nineteen. What if it was a different person? They’d have another suspect. But he couldn’t share something like that. It would wreck the prosecution’s case. Slate wouldn’t get “box” duty like Wade. He’d be looking not only for a different job, but a different profession.
No one would hire him if he shared that type of information.
“I can’t show you the evidence.”
“You mean whatever made you question Victor’s innocence?”
“Yes. So you’ve never heard of his status in the study as a subject number?”
“As far as I can tell, it wasn’t a blind study if that’s what you’re referring to. I have a copy of it at home. It doesn’t include the names of the participants but it has information specifically for Victor. Do you need it? Could I bring it to your office tomorrow?” Vivian scrunched her nose, sort of grimacing.
“You said you don’t have a car. Perhaps I could give you a lift home.”
“There’s an office supply store around the corner from my apartment if you need copies.”
“That’ll work.”
“Lieutenant, I know you said you weren’t reopening Victor’s case. It does sort of sound like you’ve found something new.” She bit her lip, pulling her jacket even tighter around her.
“Why don’t you show me the copy of the report you have? That’s the first step.”
The sky broke open in a severe thunderstorm that had been threatening all day. Slate stuck his hat on tight, tucked the file into his shirt and gestured for Vivian to stay at the door. “No sense in the both of us getting soaked. I’ll be right back.”
Slate ran the two blocks to his truck, dumped his hat in the back seat, locked the file in the middle compartment and drove back to the coffee shop. A little over ten minutes. But when he pulled up outside, Vivian wasn’t standing near the door. He waited a couple more minutes. Then he pushed on the flashers and ran inside to see.
“Hey.” He got the attention of the barista. “Where’s the woman I was with a few minutes ago?”
“You left. She left. I don’t know where.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all.”
Cranking
