The cop had f*****g disappeared. He wasn"t answering his phone. He wasn"t at home. His goddamn wife wouldn"t talk no matter how much Donnie hit her. A sinking feeling in his gut told him that Pinky had already found the girl. That she"d been locked away and he"d never get to ask who did it. That was all he wanted. Seven years of searching and the truth was still an enigma to him.
Someone had killed Frank Morris and Izzy, the two people he loved most in the world. Someone had told him to place that bomb, to set that timer. Someone had sent that text. He was pacing the threadbare carpet of his third storey bed-sit. The phone was silent.
For seven long years he had searched for her, picking clues out of the scrap piece of letter. Finding nothing but dead ends everywhere he searched. Approac
