entered in correctly. I mean…no clue how that shit works, but people are fallible. Computers are fallible. Who knows?”
“And Dennis did mention that he didn’t see the documentation in the file about sending the DNA in to the database…whatever that was called,” I add.
“That’s right,” he agrees, and finally puts some food into his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then repeats as he contemplates what this all means.
Finally, he lowers his fork again and says, “I need to know, but I’m not sure how to go about doing it.”
“Just call the investigating officer in my case. Simple as that.”
“Maybe,” he says hesitantly. “But I’m a little worried about drawing attention to us right now. And we certainly can’t tell them why we’re questioning it. It’s just extra motive to pin on us. So, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, but then again, it’s the easiest thing to do.”
“Have Dennis get involved?” I suggest.
And I can tell by the look on his face that he’s already considered this. “He’s on vacation, and I hate to bother him.”
“What the fuck ever, Beckett North,” I scoff at him. “Dennis is a friend and he’d jump all over this in a heartbeat.”
“And he’d ask us questions,” he points out, and now I understand his hesitancy. “I don’t want to drag him in any deeper.”
“Well, we don’t have to decide right this minute,” I tell him as I pick up my utensils again. “I say we finish dinner and relax the rest of the night. God knows we need a little downtime away from all of this worry and stress.”
“And we have whipped cream,” he says with a husky laugh.
“Exactly.” I pop the tomato into my mouth and chew through my grin at him.
Beck’s phone starts ringing from the kitchen and he stands up to retrieve it. As he’s walking away from me, he looks over his shoulder and adds, “But I don’t think we tell Caroline until we know for sure about the DNA. Agreed?”
“Sure,” I say with a nod of acceptance. It wasn’t going to matter if we told her tomorrow or a few weeks from now.
Beck disappears into the kitchen, and before it can ring a third time, he answers, “Beck North.”
He’s silent for several moments, then I hear him say with resignation, “Sure. I’ll be there at two.”
He disconnects without even saying goodbye and I know this because he suddenly appears in the dining room before me.
“That was my attorney,” Beck says in a low voice filled with tension. “The police want me to come in and give a formal statement tomorrow. He’s arranged us to meet there at two P.M .”
The food in my stomach seems to turn to lead as a heavy feeling of unease settles in. All thoughts of whipped cream and relaxation are now gone.
Tomorrow the police will talk to Beck, and while they certainly may want to just pick his brain about the potential of a bookie killing JT, my gut instinct says they’re putting a narrowed eye on Beck because of his close relationship with his partner.
A kernel of fear forms in the center of my chest and I imagine the worst.
Beck going down for my sins.
I don’t know this attorney, but he seems more than capable. My buddy Robert Colling, who is a domestic attorney, recommended this guy, Doug Shriver, to represent me in dealing with the police. I’d called Robert not long after the cops showed up at my condo on the night JT died and essentially told him the basics that he needed to know.
That being JT was dead under suspicious circumstances and the cops wanted to talk to me further.
Robert called Doug, and Doug called me.
We spoke for fifteen minutes and he advised me it would be best if we not only cooperated in the investigation but were proactive in setting up the meeting with the detectives as they requested. And so this is where I am now, waiting in a large conference room at the Sausalito PD that isn’t what I expected from watching a few episodes of
Law & Order
. The room’s brightly lit with
“And Dennis did mention that he didn’t see the documentation in the file about sending the DNA in to the database…whatever that was called,” I add.
“That’s right,” he agrees, and finally puts some food into his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then repeats as he contemplates what this all means.
Finally, he lowers his fork again and says, “I need to know, but I’m not sure how to go about doing it.”
“Just call the investigating officer in my case. Simple as that.”
“Maybe,” he says hesitantly. “But I’m a little worried about drawing attention to us right now. And we certainly can’t tell them why we’re questioning it. It’s just extra motive to pin on us. So, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, but then again, it’s the easiest thing to do.”
“Have Dennis get involved?” I suggest.
And I can tell by the look on his face that he’s already considered this. “He’s on vacation, and I hate to bother him.”
“What the fuck ever, Beckett North,” I scoff at him. “Dennis is a friend and he’d jump all over this in a heartbeat.”
“And he’d ask us questions,” he points out, and now I understand his hesitancy. “I don’t want to drag him in any deeper.”
“Well, we don’t have to decide right this minute,” I tell him as I pick up my utensils again. “I say we finish dinner and relax the rest of the night. God knows we need a little downtime away from all of this worry and stress.”
“And we have whipped cream,” he says with a husky laugh.
“Exactly.” I pop the tomato into my mouth and chew through my grin at him.
Beck’s phone starts ringing from the kitchen and he stands up to retrieve it. As he’s walking away from me, he looks over his shoulder and adds, “But I don’t think we tell Caroline until we know for sure about the DNA. Agreed?”
“Sure,” I say with a nod of acceptance. It wasn’t going to matter if we told her tomorrow or a few weeks from now.
Beck disappears into the kitchen, and before it can ring a third time, he answers, “Beck North.”
He’s silent for several moments, then I hear him say with resignation, “Sure. I’ll be there at two.”
He disconnects without even saying goodbye and I know this because he suddenly appears in the dining room before me.
“That was my attorney,” Beck says in a low voice filled with tension. “The police want me to come in and give a formal statement tomorrow. He’s arranged us to meet there at two P.M .”
The food in my stomach seems to turn to lead as a heavy feeling of unease settles in. All thoughts of whipped cream and relaxation are now gone.
Tomorrow the police will talk to Beck, and while they certainly may want to just pick his brain about the potential of a bookie killing JT, my gut instinct says they’re putting a narrowed eye on Beck because of his close relationship with his partner.
A kernel of fear forms in the center of my chest and I imagine the worst.
Beck going down for my sins.
I don’t know this attorney, but he seems more than capable. My buddy Robert Colling, who is a domestic attorney, recommended this guy, Doug Shriver, to represent me in dealing with the police. I’d called Robert not long after the cops showed up at my condo on the night JT died and essentially told him the basics that he needed to know.
That being JT was dead under suspicious circumstances and the cops wanted to talk to me further.
Robert called Doug, and Doug called me.
We spoke for fifteen minutes and he advised me it would be best if we not only cooperated in the investigation but were proactive in setting up the meeting with the detectives as they requested. And so this is where I am now, waiting in a large conference room at the Sausalito PD that isn’t what I expected from watching a few episodes of
Law & Order
. The room’s brightly lit with
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