Wayne Buckwald pulled into the TBI parking lot after sunset. He’d come on a Saturday to avoid another confrontation with his boss about unapproved investigations. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
He entered the building to find it empty except for a couple of other agents seated in the expansive office space. Without exchanging words, he settled in at his desk. As the computer booted up, he pulled the notebook from his shirt pocket and turned it to the notes he had taken during his last conversation with Sheriff Rome.
Wayne spent the next hour researching a TBI case involving Emory’s biological father. He read about Carl Grant and the twisting path that led him to Sheriff Rome’s attention. “This is unbelievable. Why didn’t Emory ever tell me?”
Wayne read about Carl’s affiliations and a plot that mentioned the former Crescent Lake, Crown-of-Thorns Mountain and a name he didn’t know how to pronounce.
Wayne was so engrossed in his research, he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him.
“What’s Deignus?” asked Steve Linders, reading over his shoulder.
Wayne jumped and yelled at his partner, “Damn it, Steve! You scared the bejeezus out of me!”
Steve laughed and took a seat next to him. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Closing up the suicide case. I got the ME report a little while ago, and it confirms everything we already knew. The question is, what are you doing here? You never work weekends.”
Wayne squirmed a bit. “Just doing some research on an old case.”
“You’re doing that favor for the sheriff who came to see you, aren’t you? The father of your last partner.”
“I’m working on an old case.”
Steve kicked back in his chair. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t, but the sheriff shouldn’t bear the iniquity of his son.”
“Okay, so what is Deignus?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m your partner.”
Wayne chopped the air with his right hand. “Not on this, you’re not.”
“That’s okay.” Steve rose from his chair. “I need to get home anyway. See you Monday.”
Once his partner had left, Wayne continued his research. “Here we go. The evidence log.” He scrolled through the list. “Damn, it’s long. This is going to take forever. I’ll do a search.”
He typed the words as he spoke. “Picture.” No results appeared. “Photo.” One result appeared: Photograph of a boy.
“That doesn’t tell me anything. I’ll have to see it. The crypt is closed on weekends.”
Wayne turned off his computer. “I’ll have to come back early Monday morning.” He got up and scooted his chair toward his desk. “Before Bachman gets in.”