Was he violating that friendship?

Simply typing in Ray’s information created a record he had no ability to erase.

Shit.

Mason logged out and immediately felt better.

What about Hunsinger’s email? That’s where he could find out what was going on with Josie’s case. He’d learned Hunsinger’s log-in during a case last year. Maybe he still had it somewhere.

Mason heard the door open behind him and popped up out of Ray’s chair, moving to the far end of the cabinets to get a view of who’d come in the door.

“Hey, Callahan. Tom told me you’d been in here.”

His immediate supervisor Denny Schefte was a silver-haired long-distance runner with a black mustache that belonged in a porn flick. Mason liked the man. He’d always found him to be a straight shooter and brutally honest and fair. All high marks in Mason’s book.

“Prints are done. That should clear up anything from Josie’s murder,” Mason stated. He studied Denny’s gaze, searching for a sign that this misunderstanding was about to vanish. “I’d like to look at my calendar. My computer available somewhere?”

Schefte shifted his weight. “No, it’s still being looked at.”

“Did you look to see when I last went by Josie’s? I put every meeting with my CIs on my calendar.”

“I did. You logged a visit on September fifteenth.”

He’d been right. September. “It was a scorcher that day. She didn’t have air. I knew that was the last time I was there.”

“How come you actually went to her place? That’s not SOP.”

Sweat sprouted in Mason’s armpits. “Usually, I didn’t. We typically met down the street at a Starbucks. That time she had forgotten something, so I walked back to her place with her.”

Schefte looked him straight in the eye. “Were you fucking her?”

“Jesus Christ, Denny! God, no. I don’t do that shit. And wouldn’t ever even consider it! Especially with a . . .” He dropped the sentence. He’d been about to say hooker. But Josie deserved better than that. She’d been a good kid. She’d just had hard times and made bad decisions.

“I wasn’t fucking her. Never even crossed my mind.” He held Schefte’s gaze.

He was on trial.

“It’s okay if you did, Callahan. It wouldn’t be the first time someone fooled around with a CI. It’s not against the law to have sex.”

Disgust filled his chest. Not only was Schefte playing mind games, he was trying to cheapen Mason’s character. “Fuck you, Denny. I didn’t sleep with Josie. I’ve never slept with an informant or a witness or even fucking considered it. You know me better than that. Don’t play games with my head.” His vision tunneled until Schefte’s face was the only visible thing in the room. “If you’ve got something to tell me, say it. Don’t try to manipulate me to confess to something I never did.”

Schefte was silent.

Mason’s anger burned away, ice-cold fear taking its place. “What’s going on?” he whispered to his boss. The silence in the room was almost painful in its enormity. Something had happened. “What did they find now?”

Schefte took a deep breath. “You’re a good cop. You always have been, and I consider you a friend. I’ve known you a long time, and I like to believe I know your depth of character. You’re a bit old-fashioned, Mason. But that’s you. You get pissed at the things that are wrong in this world, and you work hard to fix them. Most things are black and white to you.”

“Damn right.” The room seemed to spin. Mason blinked, keeping his focus on Schefte.

His supervisor looked away, sorrow flashing across his face. When he looked back, determination had hardened his gaze. “After your new scans today, your prints still match. And they’re also on the bat used to murder Josie. I’m gonna ask for your weapon and badge. You’re on administrative leave.”

Mason couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t erroneous evidence collection.

Someone was deliberately framing him.

Who?

12

34 HOURS MISSING

Mason sat on the steps to his porch. His ass was one degree from freezing on the cold concrete, but the chill felt good. He needed to feel something. Since he’d turned over his gun and badge to Schefte and walked out of the police building, he’d been numb. The icy air was welcome. Right now he wanted to go inside and sleep for ten days. As long as he sat in the crispy-cool weather, he wouldn’t succumb to the part of his brain that screamed for him to hit something.

His prints were on the bat that killed Josie.

Impossible.

His brain couldn’t move beyond those two thoughts. They warred inside his head. Even though he’d been sitting motionless, the exhaustion sweeping his body made him feel like he’d run a marathon. Or two.

He ached to get drunk. Or run. Or drive for several hours. He could be at the coast in ninety minutes and run on the beach. The ocean always calmed him. Now that he was on administrative leave, no one cared what he did or where he went.

No one.

A wet nose touched his hand.

“Hey, boy.” Mason rubbed the dog’s head, and its tongue flopped out the side of its mouth in joy. He’d noticed the food bowl was empty when he’d arrived. He’d promptly filled it and peered inside the solid-sided crate he’d borrowed from a neighbor. The old outdoor furniture cushion he’d placed inside showed a thin coating of black hair. The dog must have approved of the sleeping space. Mason pulled out the cushion and whacked it on the porch rail to loosen the hair, then placed it neatly back in the crate.