Twisted
““It’s not him.”
“We know.” Jonah didn’t sound surprised, just frustrated. “We heard from Waynesboro. The shit’s hitting the fan up there. Jordan Wheatley failed to pick him out of a photo lineup, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened. I thought she saw the guy.”
“She did.” Mark spotted his exit and skated across three lanes of traffic. “Edgar Allen Moss, 10-30-70.”
Silence.
“Damien’s brother,” Mark added.
“I thought his brother was in Huntsville?”
“Different brother, same gene pool.”
“Shit. The D.A.’s going to go ballistic.”
Jonah was right, but that was the least of their problems.
“I’ve been on the phone with the records office up in Sacramento County,” he told Jonah. “Turns out there were three boys, not two. First kid was nine years older than his brothers. Which means—”
“He wasn’t in the home when Child Protective Services went there.”
Mark exited the highway and ran a stale yellow at the nearest intersection.
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