My colleagues and I picked our cautious ways under a bright, starry night—er, morning—through Cholla"s immaculate yard. Destination: garage (the one place Rey and Linda hadn"t yet snooped through). The three of us were fairly certain Cholla would be at the police station for a while, providing background on Bayat and whatnot. Still, I couldn"t help but whisper, “This is insane.”
“No more insane than having gone to the boat,” Linda murmured as we stopped before contemporary, window-style garage doors.
Flashlights had inadvertently been left in the rear of the car, but as long as something didn"t require close or careful scrutiny, we"d be okay. What did we hope to find? No f"g idea. But there was a pressing (feverish) need to do something, anything, to bring this case to a close.
anything
