Don’t Let Him Know I’m Still Alive
“Six,” Barrett said. “Forecourt, two interior, register, cooler, back lot.”
“Retention?”
“Sixty days on a local unit.”
Reyes did the arithmetic out loud, which I appreciated, because I had already done it and needed somebody else to be wrong.
“The incident was the twenty-second,” she said. “Today is the fourth.”
Forty-three days. Barrett was standing before she finished the sentence.