Chapter Eighteen
I’m not sure whose face conveys the most worry—mine, Wolf’s or Natalie’s.
The detective’s fingers tighten around her phone. “What do you mean, it’s not there? You just said it was checked in!”
“Hang on,” a clearly flustered Bremmer says. “Sergeant Doyle probably just put it on the wrong shelf.”
The scrape of more boxes being moved echoes around the room. Wolf’s frustration increases with each scrape, as does Natalie’s. And mine.
“Nope, not here,” Bremmer finally reports.
“Sergeant—” Natalie seethes.
“Let me check one more thing.” After several seconds of shuffling footsteps, he says, “Here we go. According to the sign-in sheet, the coin was checked out at 9:03 this morning. It wasn’t entered into the system because our computer’s been glitchy all day. Only came back
