there for a while. The barista yawns as he erases hot chocolate from the chalkboard menu behind him and tosses an empty Swiss Miss cardboard box into the trash. “Do you think Phoebe will be there?”
“I doubt it. She’s pretty much living at the hospital right now.” Suddenly the document in front of me springs open, and I give Knox a triumphant smile. “I’m in! Got the first one open. This is…hmm. Probably not relevant. It’s something to do with a case settled for the Weber Reed Consulting Group in Florida.” I scan the first few pages quickly, then close the document and pull up the second. “Let me try the other one.”
“Nice work, Sherlock,” Knox says. He looks pensive, though, and rubs a hand over his face as he gazes out the window. “I wish we had the same luck digging dirt up on this guy. We’re right across the street from him, and we still don’t know who he is. Has the revenge forum said anything interesting lately? Or worrying?”
I have Vengeance Is Mine open in another browser and I’ve gotten a couple of PingMe alerts since we’ve been here, but it’s just ranting from names I don’t recognize. “Nothing from Darkestmind,” I say. “He’s been quiet since that post about Phoebe.”
Knox shifts restlessly in his seat. “What did the note he left at Café Contigo say again? He didn’t sign it with an initial or anything, did he?”
“No,” I say decisively, and then I pause. I read that note pretty quickly, after all, and I wasn’t in the calmest state of mind. “I don’t think so, but let’s double-check.” I tear my eyes away from my screen, where the headline SETTLEMENT ON BEHALF OF EAGLE GRANITE MANUFACTURING CORPORATION, EASTLAND CA has popped up, to dig my phone out of my bag. I open my photos and scroll until I find the right one. “I took a picture,” I say, handing the phone to Knox. “See for yourself.”
Knox squints, and then every bit of color drains from his face. His head snaps up, his expression tense. “What. The. Hell.” Before I can question the quick-change demeanor, he adds, “Why didn’t you show this to me before?”
I blink. Is he mad at me? “What are you talking about? I read it to you at Café Contigo.”
“That’s not the same thing!” he insists.
My scalp prickles at the decidedly un-Knox tone of his voice. “How is it not the same thing? You know what it says.”
“But I didn’t know how it looks.”
“I don’t—”
He thrusts my phone at me, cutting off my next bewildered question. “I’m talking about the font. How the note was written. You know, this type that looks like handwriting but isn’t? I’ve seen it before. The latest batch of death threats at Until Proven used it.”
“What?” I ask. When Knox doesn’t answer right away, I repeat, “What?”
“Yeah…hang on,” Knox says. He puts my phone down and turns to his laptop, fingers flying over his keyboard. “Sandeep thought the threats were related to the D’Agostino case, so I’m gonna…I have a bunch of stuff in my G drive.” He angles the computer so I can see his screen. “This is a spreadsheet of everybody involved in the D’Agostino case. I’ll check for David Jackson.” He types the name into the search bar, and neither of us breathes until it comes up blank.
“Try just Jackson,” I say.
This time we get a result right away: Officer Ray Jackson, defendant. Accused of assisting Sergeant Carl D’Agostino in blackmailing and framing seventeen innocent people for drug possession. Age: 24. Status: In jail, awaiting trial.
“Huh,” I say. “Ray Jackson. Maybe he’s related to David Jackson?”
“Maybe,” Knox says. He’s still tapping away, eyes glued to the screen. “Hang on, I indexed all the media coverage too. Let’s see if they mention family.” He’s silent for a couple of minutes, then angles his screen toward me. “This article includes Jackson and brother in it somewhere.”
A news clip fills the screen, showing Sergeant D’Agostino with his arm around a clean-cut young guy holding a plaque. “I remember this article,” Knox says. “I read it with Bethany. It’s about D’Agostino giving some mentoring award.” He points to the caption. “The week before his arrest, Sergeant Carl D’Agostino commended San Diego State University students for excellence in community peer mentoring.”
“Okay, so that’s D’Agostino,” I say. “What does it say about Jackson?” Both our eyes race over the page, but mine are faster. I almost gasp when