The Man Stalking Me Said Stop Working Alone, and the Kind Vet Was the One Who Let My Tire Down novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: The Log

The county's one concession, the woman on the phone told me, was that I could see the log before I testified.

She said it, and I understood it was a trap with a bow on it.

They wanted me in a room with the dispatch records, saying something about them.

I wanted to know what they had.

I took Pavel's lawyer with me, the quiet man with the folio, and we went to the courthouse on a gray Thursday afternoon.

The St. Louis County courthouse in Duluth is a great pale stone building at the top of the hill.

A clerk took us up to a small windowless room on the second floor.

On the table lay a laptop and a single printed sheet.

The clerk left and shut the door.

I sat down.

The sheet was the log entry from the night before my parents died.

I had seen the printout in the binder, and I had told myself I knew it.

I had not seen the system page the records office had stapled behind it, perhaps by mistake.

It listed where the entry came from.

The order had been typed at 11:48 p.m. under my login, from a workstation on the garage's internal network.

It was not the dispatch desk.

The origin address belonged to the computer in the break room, the one beside the coffee urn.

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