List of Secrets

CHAPTER ONE-3

2,121 miles northwest, at her desk in Seattle’s police headquarters, Detective Elizabeth Zimmerman finished typing out her case report on the one she’d finally been able to wrap today. A fatal carjacking two months earlier had given her quite the run. But she’d stayed focused, channeled the dogged determination she had inherited from her father, and the hours tenaciously racked up had finally paid off. She not only caught the man she’d been chasing, but she’d managed to hand Vice an extremely handy piece of intel; they had conducted a raid earlier in the evening that resulted in over three million in cocaine taken off the streets of Seattle.

She had just hit ‘save’ then ‘print’ when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. “Hi, daddy,” she said.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

“Just finishing up a report.”

“You caught your carjacking suspect. I can tell by your voice. Good work, kiddo.”

“Thanks Dad. What are you up to?”

“Not much, just got off. Gonna go hang with Joe, watch TV.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah. Hey kid, I... I gotta go. Just wanted to check in on you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you. Talk soon?”

“Talk soon.” And he hung up.

She smiled sadly.

He just wasn’t the same as before. Before, Frank Zimmerman had been one of Fort Worth’s best detectives, ever. It wasn’t just her opinion as his daughter; he’d had several commendations over his twenty-five years doing detective work. One case, though, had broken him. One case from earlier in his career that haunted him enough to turn in his detective shield and go back to patrol work once new evidence came to light. He just hadn’t been the same since last fall, when the real killer in the 1985 case was finally identified through now more sophisticated DNA testing, and Frank realized that the man he’d helped put in prison back then - and who died while incarcerated - was innocent all along.

Now he walked a beat, and spent his off time with Joe Wallace, his former partner in the Detective unit. And, according to her last conversation with Joe a couple of months ago, Dad had become more and more dependent on whiskey to get through his days as a beat cop.

She sighed. She’d have to take some time, travel down to Fort Worth soon and check on him. Maybe over the holidays at some point. Although that was when the crazies seemed to peak around here.

She’d just have to play it by ear.

Her desk phone rang, and with it came a fresh case. She grabbed her badge, jacket, and sidearm, fixed them all in place, and left to go look at the scene and at one very dead convenience store clerk that had made the mistake of fighting back unarmed against a masked robber.

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