The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

The man came over to Amanda. “I wanted to personally thank you for bringing Jonah’s crimes into the light and serving justice to those poor girls.”

Amanda glanced from him to Hill, who was striding over, back to the stranger. “And you are?”

“Detective Steele,” Hill said, “this is my brother-in-law, Congressman Eugene Davis.”

Amanda’s eyes snapped to the congressman’s eyes. Brother-in-law? Jonah Reid had worked for Davis. Some pieces were starting to make sense—at least how it might have been possible that Reid pop into PWCPD and out so quickly. But was Amanda really thinking that Hill had facilitated that for a darker, more sinister purpose—that she was somehow involved with the ring? That was ludicrous.

“Thank you,” Davis repeated. “I truly mean it.” He held out his hand to shake Amanda’s and the cuff of his jacket sleeve lifted enough to expose a bracelet, much like the one that— Her head went light.

“Detective?” Hill prompted.

“Oh, sorry.” She touched a hand to her forehead. “I’ll be fine. Just a little off balance still with all that happened.” She offered a tepid smile to both the lieutenant and the congressman.

“Understandable,” Hill said. “Maybe take a day or two off.”

“I just might.” Amanda eyed the door. “Can I—?”

“Yes, of course. That’s all I’d wanted you here for.”

Amanda staggered back to her desk, sometimes brushing against the walls. She had to have imagined what she’d swear she’d seen. A bracelet, just like the one with the recovered data chip, around the congressman’s wrist—the lieutenant’s brother-in-law’s wrist. Was Eugene Davis part of the sex-trafficking ring with Jonah Reid? And did Lieutenant Hill know about it or worse was she involved herself? Ridiculous, she concluded, and just further proof she needed some time off. After all, there were a lot of silver bracelets out there.

Amanda made it back to her desk and dropped in her chair. Trent was sitting at his.

?

?Congratulations on solving your case,” he said to her.

“Thanks, and I’m still alive to talk about it. Ah, how’s the Palmer investigation going?” She swallowed roughly, smiled at Trent.

“Actually, I’ve been waiting for a good time to talk with you.” Trent’s eyes darted around. “Maybe we could grab a Jabba.”

She could tell he’d said the word as a stab at joviality, but something was bothering him. “Sure.”

She let him drive, but he didn’t go anywhere for coffee. He drove a few blocks from the station and parked on a side street.

He angled toward her. “I know I’m not supposed to… Well, you’re not supposed to touch the Palmer case, but…”

The way he was looking at her had her stomach twisting like he was going to tell her someone died. “What is it?”

He pulled a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

She took it, tempted to ask what it was, but the letterhead was stamped with a local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous.

“It’s a list of names of those who have been issued twenty-year sobriety coins in the last ten years,” he said.

“Okay and…”

“You might want to look at page five.”

She eyeballed him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before flipping the sheets of paper. On the fifth line was a name she knew far too well. She let go of the report.

“I’m sorry, Amanda, but it looks like—”

“I— I know what it looks like but, no, he wouldn’t have done this.” Her mouth was pasty, and she felt like being sick. She looked back down and there it was in black and white: Nathan Steele. The coin had been issued the week before the accident; she’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of her life, she’d had no idea, but then how could she have?

“I thought you might like to know.”

She looked at him, blinked tears, found her voice. “Did you follow up the other leads? A cab that could be tied to the perp or…”