9
My shitty luck continued in the morning. The principal at Trevor’s old school said no one remembered him there. Then the Document Deities snubbed me at the Sheriff’s Department. Deputy Matisek didn’t have the fingerprint report yet, but he had a call in to the examiner and felt sure he’d have it for me when I returned next week. I’d overnighted some materials to a gun buddy, Harvey Coffman, on Monday. In an attempt to turn things around, I called him from the parking lot while my mind was on the evidence. Miraculously, I reached Harvey instead of a machine. But that’s where the miracles stopped.
“I’m sorry, Syd. Much as I’d like to get out my flannel shirts and s**t-kickers and eat me some fried food, I doubt I’d get anything from heading down there and seeing the gun in person.”
“Cul
