Page 93 of A Game of Deception

His eyes pinballed between us and the nearest tourists. “Keep your voice down,” he begged.

“Why?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Scared these nice families might learn that Mr. Turtle Talk is actually a dirty ex-cop who took cash to frame innocent people?”

“You don’t know shit,” Morrison insisted, voice cracking.

Tara stepped forward, radiating ice-cold authority. “She told us all about the ledger, Detective. Your little bribe diary. Including, we believe, one from my father about my brother’s death.”

Morrison’s face twisted. “You can’t prove any of this.”

“Don’t need to,” I let a razor-edged smile curl my lips. “Just need to make noise. To the right people. How’s your retirement look after that? Your reputation? Your pension?”

A family with kids wandered onto the boardwalk. Morrison grabbed my arm and yanked us to a secluded corner.

“What the fuck do you want?” he demanded, whispering harshly. “Money?”

Tara shook her head, disgusted. “We don’t want your money. We don’t even care about exposing the Valdez case or your other corrupt bullshit.”

“Then what?” Morrison asked, confused and terrified.

“Your original notes about my brother’s accident,” Tara demanded. “The ones that never made the official report. The ones that detail exactly what happened.”

Morrison stared, breathing fast. “And if I give you these supposed notes, you’ll what? Leave me alone? Never mention Valdez again?”

“That’s the deal,” I confirmed. “Give us the truth about Jimmy Swanson, and we forget your name, the ledger, Valdez, everything.”

He studied us, hunting for tricks. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t,” Tara said bluntly. “But what choice do you have? Take the deal or watch your cozy retirement burn.”

Morrison deflated. He rubbed his face, suddenly looking ancient. “I don’t have the notes here.”

“Where are they?” I demanded.

After hesitating, he pulled out a key ring and removed a small, tarnished key.

“Storage unit off I-75,” he said hollowly. “Unit 218. File’s in a lockbox on the back shelf.” He pressed the key into my hand. “Take it, and then never come back again.”

I closed my fist around it, feeling its weight—both real and symbolic. This tiny piece of metal might unlock everything.

“If this is bullshit—” I started.

“It’s not,” he cut me off wearily. “You’ll find what you want. And when you do...” He looked at Tara with something like regret. “Sorry about your brother. For whatever that’s worth.”

He walked away, shoulders slumped, steps heavy. We watched him disappear into the main building.

Tara turned to me, eyes wide with shock and victory. “We did it,” she whispered. “He caved.”

I stared at the key. So ordinary-looking for something so potentially life-changing.

“Think he’s telling the truth?” I asked. “About the storage unit?”

Tara nodded. “You saw his face. He’s fucking terrified. Whatever’s in those notes, he wants us to have it more than he wants to protect it.”

I pocketed the key. “Well, let’s go find out what the truth really is.”

We walked back through the center, past displays that now seemed bizarrely normal. How could everything look so ordinary when we were about to uncover the truth that had warped our entire lives?

In the parking lot, Tara checked directions. “Twenty minutes from here. Just off the interstate.”