The Watson Evidence by Rosalyn Wraight

Author:Rosalyn Wraight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Don't Waste Daylight
Published: 2019-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Forty-five minutes later, McCallister exited the small restaurant as swiftly as she could. It would have felt more as though she had actually escaped if a DA wasn’t nipping at her heels.

“And, Detective, please do not be late.”

“Have I ever been late?” she challenged, trying hard to swallow her irritation.

Completely ignoring her response, she said, “I want these cases wrapped up, especially Dugan. That punk’s been skating far too long. It’s time—”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Sharon.”

“And, Detective, remember not to volunteer anything that’s not specifically asked for.”

Completely out of patience, she inhaled sharply and quickened her pace. There was only one thing worse than an overbearing DA: an overbearing DA wanting her numbers up.

In the refuge of her car, she glanced to the dashboard clock and determined she had ample time to stop at Timmer’s. Perhaps a novel and a decent cup of coffee would keep her from brooding and make an afternoon of waiting endurable.

As she parked near Timmer’s, she noticed that their outdoor tables had been retrieved from winter storage. A handful of patrons braved the wrought iron chairs, and she decided she’d do the same—until the last possible second before she needed to leave for the courthouse but a few blocks away.

Coffee in hand, she soon took a seat and then a sip. She pulled her jacket closed to the cool breeze and removed the paperback from her pocket: The Catcher in the Rye. It was void of a mystery, and she could immerse herself in someone else’s angst instead of her own.

She had nearly found peace in the book’s second page when her eyes darted to the second story of the building across the street. Weaver Realty made her think of Prosser, a renegade cop who sought to mete out what he deemed justice. He blew his head off when his despicable truth came to light. For the first time since then, she did not feel such anger when she thought of him, and she knew that was probably not a healthy thing. She was frustrated, overwhelmed, filled to overflowing with things she could neither control nor change. Her mind returned to St. Mike’s, and she found herself wishing she didn’t always try to do the civilized thing first. What she had done did not dispel her anger, and it did not lessen her hurt in the least. Would something uncivilized have made her feel better, or just guiltier?

Her mind drifted to Holly and her off-the-cuff remark about shooting parents who didn’t know enough—or care enough—to see that their kids were hurting. She knew Holly didn’t mean it, yet she understood her point. It was far more civilized not to say it. It was civilized to look to the police to keep the kids safe. It was civilized to stare at a bridge all night. But, it did not dispel anger, and it did not lessen hurt.

Once more, her eyes traveled to the second-story window, and she angrily returned her gaze to the table.

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