Chapter Nineteen
Interrupting the Dead.
The scant hours of sleep I snatched when I eventually made it home were restless. I kept seeing the shadowy figure, the man in black, always just out of reach, and the car, tearing toward me—the same as the car I was sure I had followed the day before. Leon Schmitt’s car. At 7am, I gave up on sleep and threw together a quick breakfast—more coffee than food—and downed a painkiller.
Feeling partially restored, I placed a call to Detective Welsh. The call connected straight to voicemail, so I left a message, apologized for the vanishing act and gave a vague excuse of leaving for an emergency, followed by a promise to drop by the station and sign the all-important paperwork later.
My second call was to the offices of Leon Schmitt at City Talent. Once
