“So, what are you doing on it now?”
“We’re still working it. Hunter, you may not believe it, but I have more than just your pet case to work. Now, you want this one, or not?”
Hunter looked at the papers. “How reliable is this?”
“I got it from an informant last night. He’s solid. It’s good info.”
“We’ll work it.”
“Just remember what I said. Keep it quiet.”
“I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
“You do that.” Wayne waited for her to get out, and when she didn’t, he said, “You can go now.”
Hunter looked at him as she placed her hand on the handle, “Don’t be jerking me around on those murdered kids, Wayne.” She got out, heading into the convenience store without a backwards glance.
Wayne said to himself, “Gonna push too hard someday.” He put the Ram Charger in reverse, backed out and drove away.
Hunter watched him go as she paid for her Coke, still holding the papers and wondering about Sheriff Wayne Rockman. She took her change and pocketed it, then went to her vehicle and drove to the office to finish her paper work for the end of her shift.
Thirty minutes later she was home and in her comfortable midriff-baring Dallas Cowboys half-shirt and loose cotton boxers. She wasn’t sleepy, and couldn’t stop thinking about the upcoming trial. She decided to call Truman.
He answered the phone, “The True-man here.”
“Truman, this is Hunter.”
“Who?”
“Hunter, Hunter Kincaid.”
“And who are you, what are you selling?”
Hunter pulled the phone away and looked at it. She put it to her ear again, saying, “Your damn client, that’s who! What the hell’s going on over there?”
She heard him laughing and drumming his fingers on his desk. Truman said, “Hunter, Hunter, loosen up, have a sense of humor.”
“I’m working mids, and I don’t have a sense of humor when I’m working midnights.”
Truman said, “Okay, I was just trying to help you keep the stress down.” She could hear his fingers rapping like machine guns on the table, “What’s up? You decide to escape to Tahiti or somewhere?”
“I thought I’d call and see if anything new has developed.”
“Nahh, I came in at four this morning and I’ve got your case scattered all over my desk right now. Got a few things already taken care of, though.”
“Like what?”
“Had a photographic expert look at the photos in Mr. Julian Garcia’s wallet. He said there’s no doubt that they are fakes. He’s willing to testify, too.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, unless Ronnie knows they are.”
“Why?”
“Simple. He could say that Julian had them made for the family, especially if there are other copies that Mrs. Garcia has at home. Like he had them made as a special present for the family.”
“Yeah, I could see Ronnie doing that.”