Forty Thousand Dollars Demanded to Bring Our Lost Daughter Home
“I know what he did,” I said, pausing to let the words settle in the room.
“But we are not going to ruin his mother’s life to pay him back.”
Miller picked up the blue-lined ransom note and slid it carefully into the left side of the folder, beneath the arrest report.
“If you refuse to cooperate with the grand larceny charge, the county will drop it to a lesser plea,” the deputy said.
“He will still do time, but it will be months in the county camp instead of years at the state facility.”
“Write it up that way,” I said.
Miller clicked his pen, the small sound sharp in the quiet room, and wrote a notation on the blue tab of the folder.
He closed the file with a soft puff of air and slid it into the metal drawer behind him.
The drawer shut with a heavy, final click that seemed to echo in the hallway.
When we walked out into the lobby, the yellow light of the late afternoon was hitting the linoleum floors.
