Page 23 of Dead Air

Chief Wallace

Lawson stared at the screen. Internal Affairs. The department rats who investigated other cops. Bringing one in meant trouble. Bringing one in with explicit orders to review Monica's case meant serious trouble.

A second email arrived before she could process the first.

FROM: Lt. Eli Park

TO: Det. Erin Lawson

SUBJECT: Meeting Request

Detective Lawson,

I've been assigned to review the Monica Landry case in light of recent public attention. Please plan to meet with me tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. in Conference Room B.

Bring all notes, files, and materials related to the original investigation in your possession.

This is a formal inquiry. You may bring representation if desired.

Lt. Eli Park

Internal Affairs Division

The car's air conditioning blasted cold air against her face, yet sweat still beaded along her hairline. Internal Affairs. Formal inquiry. Representation. Language designed to intimidate officers into compliance.

Lawson closed the email and put the car in drive. Five years of carrying an unofficial copy of Monica's case. Five years of quiet investigation outside official channels. All potentially exposed by an Internal Affairs review.

Blackwell's podcast had achieved its first victory. The department now investigated its own. And Lawson stood directly in the crosshairs.

chapter

nine

Conference Room Bsat at the far end of the precinct. Glass walls afforded no privacy, turning interviews into aquarium exhibits for passing officers. Lawson arrived fifteen minutes early, coffee in hand.

The room stood empty. She claimed the chair facing the door and spread her files across the table. Official copies only. The unauthorized material remained locked in her apartment.

Precinct activity continued outside. Officers processed morning arrests. Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. Life moved forward despite the sword hanging over her career.

Ten minutes passed before the door opened. A man entered carrying a leather messenger bag and a coffee mug with the Marine Corps emblem. His gray suit looked military in its precision. No wrinkles, perfect creases. His haircut matched—high and tight, revealing a scar that curved behind his right ear.

"Detective Lawson." His voice carried the clipped cadence of someone accustomed to giving orders. "Lieutenant Eli Parks. Internal Affairs."

She stood and offered her hand. "Lieutenant."

His grip proved firm without domineering pressure. A handshake that communicated competence rather than intimidation.

He glanced around the conference room with obvious distaste, then took a sip from his mug. The grimace that followed seemed involuntary.

"Your coffee tastes like battery acid filtered through a sweaty sock." He set the mug down. "Perimeter Coffee Shop two blocks south makes something resembling actual coffee. Care to continue this there?"

Lawson blinked. "You arranged this meeting here."

"That was before I tasted your coffee." Parks gestured toward the hallway. "Important conversations deserve adequate caffeine. My treat."

His casual tone contrasted with IAB's reputation for rigid formality. "Won't your superiors expect an official setting?"

"My superiors expect results, not location reports." Parks checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes walking and ordering still puts us within our scheduled window."