I have another restless night, my attempts at sleep broken up by times on the Internet. Finally, I give up and make coffee, then turn on the TV. The local news is on, and when they flash Brent Pace’s picture on the screen, I step toward the TV.
Local authorities are still trying to find Pace’s alleged killer, who surfaced in Georgia after rescuing a girl and her baby from kidnapping. Today, an anonymous source gave us pictures of the Brent Pace crime scene, which puts this crime back into perspective. The brutal murder happened months ago . . .
As the anchor reads off the story, they show the picture that even I wasn’t allowed to have, of Brent’s bloody body at the foot of his stairs.
The pictures are not shown for very long and a lot is pixelated, but the anchor says that if you want to see more you can go to their website. I dash to my computer and open it, go to that site. The unpixelated pictures are right there, gory and brutal.
I feel the heat in my ears, burning in the back of my throat, my heart racing as I think of Brent’s mother seeing these pictures, feeling violated as all of her friends discuss them over lunch. Without a doubt, I know why they were released. It is Keegan’s way of reminding the public that Casey Cox is not a hero, but a killer. And I know who will be blamed for the leak.
I leave the TV running and storm out of my apartment, race down the stairs to my car. My hands are shaking as I drive to the department.
When I get there I speed walk across the lawn and up the steps into the building. I start to go to the detectives’ floor, to confront Keegan myself, but then I change my mind. It’s useless confronting him and Rollins. Instead, I go to Chief Gates’s office at the back corner of the building, hoping he’s there. His secretary is on the phone and another line is ringing, and in his office I can hear him talking.
He’s already heard about the pictures and he’s talking his way out of it. I slide my shaking fists into my pockets. “I need to see him,” I tell the secretary. “Tell him it’s Dylan Roberts.” She looks alarmed at the sound of my name and puts her call on hold, then goes to his door. “It’s him,” she says. “Dylan Roberts.”
“Dylan, get in here!” he yells, and she motions for me to go in. As I walk in I see that Chief Gates is just as livid as I am. He’s standing, pacing behind his chair, holding the phone to his ear as he rants on. “No, I don’t know what he was thinking, but I’m about to find out. Let me call you back.”
He slams the phone down and leans over the desk. “There are a couple of very dear people who are grief-stricken all over again because they had to see their son’s bloody body plastered on the TV screen and going viral across the Internet. What do you know about this, Dylan?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “I want to know the same thing. Who leaked those photos?”
“Keegan says it was you. Sit down!”
I can’t sit down. “Keegan knows full well that I wasn’t given those photos.” My hand is still shaking as I pull out my phone and go to my photos. I swipe through until I get to the first of the pictures that I took that day, pictures of evidence markers and none of Brent’s body. I hand him the phone and watch as he swipes through.
He finally thrusts the phone back. “This doesn’t prove anything, Dylan. For all I know you deleted them on your way here.”
“Why would I come straight here when I saw it?” I ask. “Brent was my friend. I don’t want people gawking at him like this. This has Detective Keegan written all over it.”
He grunts. “Why would you even say that?”
“He doesn’t like the PR that Casey Cox is getting,” I say. “He wants to change the narrative.”
“So did I,” Chief Gates says. “You probably did too. But this—”
I finally sink down into the chair and rub my face. “Has Brent’s mother seen it?”
“I was just on the phone with Jim,” he says. “She was in Best Buy when she saw it flashed on ten big screens. She’s going to have to be sedated. She’s devastated all over again. It’s like it just happened.”
It takes me a minute to get my emotions in check. I rub my mouth, stretching it into submission. “In my whole history of detective work, I have never leaked anything,” I say. “I wouldn’t do that, especially when my friend’s family is involved. Is there any way we can get an injunction against the television station? Something to make them cease and desist?”
“It’s too late,” the chief says. “The pictures are out there. People are taking screenshots of them, passing them along to their friends.”
I let out a deep breath. “People are sick.”
“Because it’s spectacular. It’s scandalous. It’s horrible and people like blood.” His hand swings across his desk, and he knocks over a bottle of water and a coffee cup. The mug breaks into pieces on the floor, splashing its brown contents onto the baseboards.
His secretary runs in. “Sir, are you all right?”
“No, I’m not,” he snaps. “Get Keegan and Rollins in here right now. Wherever they are, tell them I want to see them. And call the DA back. I can’t avoid him any longer. Get him in here if he’ll come.”
I hope the fact that he’s calling the detectives in means he believes me. The secretary gets the DA on the phone and I give the chief a minute, walking out into the hallway, checking my phone to see where else the photos have been posted. Suddenly I hear cursing from the end of the hall and look up. It’s Jim Pace coming toward me, his eyes red, his stride purposeful. “Dylan, tell me you didn’t do this!”
The fact that he even questions me makes my eyes burn even more. I step toward him. “Jim, why would I want those pictures plastered on TV like that? Why would I want people passing them around and Elise looking at them? I can’t think of anything worse.”
Jim’s mouth trembles and he loses his hold on his emotions. He covers his face and turns his back to me. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he chokes out. “His mother . . .”
“I can’t believe it either,” I whisper.
He swings back to me. “Who had those photos?”
“The CSIs who took them in the first place,” I say, “then they would have given them to the detectives. But the detectives wouldn’t release them to me, for this very reason. There is a very distinct chain of custody for those pictures. It’s all for the sole purpose of keeping the family from having to go through this kind of thing.”
Suddenly there is a commotion down the hall, and I hear Keegan’s voice as he comes toward me, Rollins following a few steps behind. Keegan looks angry, his chin pressed in the air, looking down his nose at me like he’s about to punch me out. I stand straighter and step toward him.
Then Keegan sees Jim and his demeanor changes. He reaches out his hand. “Jim, I’m so sorry about this. We’re going to get to the bottom of it, and when we find out who did this . . .” He lets go and points his finger at me, thrusting with each syllable. “When we find out . . .”
Chief Gates hears us and calls for us to come in. Keegan is on the offensive as he goes in first. “Chief, this is what happens when we contract outside help. He’s a rookie—an amateur!—and he has no business working on a homicide case.”
“You know I didn’t release those photos,” I bite out.
“Oh yeah? How do I know that?”
“Because I asked for them and you said no!” I turn to Rollins. “You were there. You heard him.” Rollins looks like he just rolled out of bed, and he smells like alcohol. He doesn’t say anything.
“You took pictures of the pictures,” Keegan says.
“Not of the ones with his body! You were aware of every one I took. You sat right there and watched me. We talked about which ones I could have.”
“And you apparently didn’t listen!”
“Sit down!” the chief yells, kicking a chair as he passes it. Keegan and Rollins sit, but I stand with Brent’s dad in the doorway. I need to tell Jim that he’ll have to decide who he trusts—me or them—but I have to be careful.
Everyone’s talking at once, trying to go louder than the others next to him, but I remain silent and lean against the wall.
Finally, Chief Gates drops into his chair. Everyone goes quiet. “Jim, I hope you believe me when I say that I didn’t know this was going to happen, and I’m starting an investigation today to find out who released the pictures.” He looks at me, then Keegan, then Rollins as he says those words. “Believe me, when I get to the bottom of this, heads are gonna roll.”
He massages his temples and folds his hands in front of his face. “Jim, I’m calling the station and asking them to take them down, but it’s not going to stop all of it. The other media have probably picked them up by now. It’s the age of sharing and retweeting. We can’t get those pictures back.”
He leans back in his chair, rakes his fingers through his hair. “But if there’s a bright side to this, at least it’ll remind people that Casey Cox is not some female knight in shining armor. That she’s a cold-blooded killer. Maybe it will make someone turn her in, wherever she is.”
Jim turns his haunted gaze up to the chief. “That’s not enough to get that image out of my wife’s head.”
“I know,” Gates says.
“Do you?” Jim snaps back. “He wasn’t your son. You didn’t even know him. Do you really know?”
Chief Gates gets quiet now, and he seems meeker as he shrinks back into his chair. Keegan and Rollins sit looking at the floor, not willing to make eye contact with anyone. I look at Jim, wishing I could take away the pain. He meets my eyes and I see that he trusts me. That’s all I need.
These men sitting in the room with him are the ones who murdered his only son, and if it’s the last thing I ever do in my life, I’m going to make sure they face justice for that. I would love nothing more than to let Jim know that Casey Cox is not the one we should lock up for this crime, but I know he’s not ready for that news just yet.
Finally, Jim speaks again. “Dylan didn’t do this. I want him left on the case.”
I look down at the floor, thankful. I wish I weren’t deceiving him.
“All right,” Chief says. “But so help me, when I find out who leaked this, somebody’s getting fired. I may even charge the person with obstruction of justice and tampering with a crime scene.”
Keegan nods and shoots me a vicious look. Rollins never looks up.
“All right, the three of you get out of my office,” Chief Gates says.
I walk out first, Keegan and Rollins shuffling behind me. As we reach the hall, Keegan grabs my arm. In reaction, I slam him against the wall. I’m sweating as I hold him there, my face inches from his. “Do not ever touch me,” I say through my teeth.
My actions startle him—as they startle me—and when I let him go, he takes a few steps away before turning back to me. “You’re losing it, man! You’re a hundred percent certifiable.”
Rollins stands between us, and he tries to shut Keegan up. I can see that he fears what I might do next.
But Keegan has more to say. “And for the record, you ever touch me again and you’ll see what I’m made of.”
I want to tell him that I know what he’s made of, and ask him if he intends to stab me to death like he did my friend. Ironic that he’s just out of my reach as he threatens me. I’ve got to get out of here before I do something stupid. Shaking my head, I push past Rollins and roughly brush shoulders with Keegan, daring him to react. The coward takes another step back.
I take off down the hall.