Chapter Twenty-Four
A jigsaw of half-truths.
The rain increased from light drizzle to a pelting downpour and did nothing to help my drive to Henry Atkinson’s house. I sped the whole way. The revelation of breaking this case pushed me toward the same sense of accomplishment I used to have back in my cop days but had all but given up on.
I bounded up to his porch and hammered on the door with much more authority than I had shown during my first visit. I didn’t let the austere nature of the house or the fact that Atkinson had a stellar record interfere with my thought processes. This time, it was going to be all business.
He answered the door khaki slacks and a pressed shirt. It was a little after three in the afternoon, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so motivated.
“I t
