My son thought I didn’t notice when he slipped something into my fishing tackle box. But 30 years as a Denver cop taught me how to spot a liar. When I opened that box, I realized my own son was trying to send me to prison. He never saw what was coming next.
The early morning sun of a crisp Colorado October filtered through my garage windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. At sixty-one, these solitary Saturday excursions had become …
My son thought I didn’t notice when he slipped something into my fishing tackle box. But 30 years as a Denver cop taught me how to spot a liar. When I opened that box, I realized my own son was trying to send me to prison. He never saw what was coming next. Read More