Authors: Thomas Fincham
“Then I can’t allow you to proceed any further,” the officer said. “Please move behind the yellow line.”
“I’m sure I have it.” Nolan looked around as if he had dropped it on his way to the house. “Maybe it’s in my car.”
As he was making his way back to the Charger, a voice called out, “Nolan!”
A woman was standing by the front door. She was waving him over.
Nolan moved passed the officer and said, “I told you I wasn’t lying.”
“Come on,” the woman said as she took his arm and escorted him inside.
Detective Marina Lopez had been with the force for over twelve years. She was considered the best of the best. Captain Ross always spoke highly of her. Nolan held her in high regard as well.
Some on the force, however, thought Ross may have a thing for hot young Latinas, but Nolan knew that was not the case. Captain Ross knew talent when he saw it. Detective Lopez earned everything she got.
“The captain sent you?” Nolan asked.
She smiled. “Only to see how you're doing on your first day back.”
“I think I’m doing great so far.”
“Are you drunk?” Lopez sniffed.
“Not entirely. Now, where’s the body?”
FIVE
He was hanging in the living room with a noose around his neck. The noose was attached to a beam in the ceiling.
“Professor Eric Freeland,” Lopez said. “He’s sixty-two and he teaches at Franklin U.”
“Who found the body?”
“His assistant from the university.”
“Where are they now?”
“I have her in my car. She’s clearly shaken up. She said the professor had a class in the morning, but when he didn’t show up, she came down to check up on him.”
“How did she get in?” Nolan asked.
“He had given her a key.”
Nolan looked at Lopez. Behind the shades she could tell what he was thinking.
“No,” Lopez said. “They weren’t seeing each other. She’s actually engaged.” She smiled. “The big rock around her finger gave that away.”
Nolan nodded. He had been a detective for far too long to not consider every avenue.
“What’s his marital status then?” he asked.
“He’s been divorced ten years now. His ex-wife lives about a two hour drive from here. He has a daughter. We are trying to contact her now.”
“This reminds me of the old times,” Nolan said.
“You mean, when you and I used to be partners?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“That was a long time ago,” she said. “Times have changed.”
“They have,” he said, more to himself than her.
He walked around the limp hanging body. Freeland’s eyes were closed and his face was pale. Nolan understood that now that Freeland was dead, there was nothing to circulate the blood up, so it drained to the lower levels of the body.
A stool lay sideways on the floor about a foot away from the body.
A light sparked inside Nolan’s brain.
There was something odd about the way the stool lay. It was as if it had been placed there. Anyone trying to kill themselves would have thrashed and kicked as they slowly lost their breath. This looked too…
clean
.
Nolan made no comment and began examining the fingers. If there had been any struggle—a possibility Nolan had to scratch off—then it would show up under the fingernails. He found nothing of significance.
He moved to Freeland’s hands. He noticed slight redness around the wrists.
He lowered his shades to get a better view, concluded that they looked like bruises.
He was about to say something when a voice said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Look who's here?”
He turned to see Detective Angelo Pascale standing by the front door.
Pascale was an arrogant prick. He walked and talked like he was better than everyone. He was proud that he was a detective and he made sure to let everyone know that. Pascale’s father was a retired Deputy Chief, which may have had something to do with him moving up, but no one could prove otherwise. Pascale kept his thick hair greased back. He always wore a black leather jacket and he always kept a toothpick in the side of his mouth.
Nolan always commented that he looked more like a Mafioso than a detective. Pascale was Italian, which made Nolan’s comments a bit racist, but Pascale wasn’t helping himself by dressing and behaving the way he did.
“What’re you doing here, Pascale?” Nolan said.
“I just came to see the show,” Pascale replied with a grin.
Nolan knew exactly what he meant. Pascale wanted to see what kind of a fool Nolan would make of himself. Ever since the
accident
Nolan had taken to the bottle and he had taken to it hard. Even though the majority sympathized with him there were still some—like Pascale—who wanted to see how far he had fallen off the wagon.
“There is nothing to see here,” Lopez quickly interjected. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”
Pascale laughed. “I do, but this would be more fun.”
“Get out, Pascale!” Lopez raised her voice. “You wouldn’t want the Captain hearing about this.”
Pascale laughed again, put his arms up. “I’m leaving. Please don’t report me.”
When he was gone, Lopez said, “Ignore him. He’s jealous that you’re a better detective than he’ll ever be.”
Nolan felt a headache coming on.
The only thing he wanted right now was to get back to the Charger and his drink.
SIX
Hyder took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said a female voice.
Caroline Dunny was behind the desk reading something. Hyder couldn’t remember if he had ever seen Dunny without makeup. Her lips were always painted bright red, and her hair, which was styled with bangs, was never without highlights. Dunny was petite, but she loved to wear high heels, which mostly included boots that went up to her knees.
Dunny’s office, on the other hand, was a mess. Papers and other items were scattered everywhere. It sometimes took hours to find anything. Dunny never searched herself. She made one of her assistants dig through the pile instead.
Hyder always wondered why she didn’t spend the time she spent getting herself more organized, but he never dared say that to her face.
“Hyder, have a seat,” she said, not looking up from whatever she was reviewing.
Hyder looked around the office. There was nothing that wasn’t covered in stuff, even the coffee table.
Dunny looked up.
“I prefer to stand,” he replied meekly.
“Do you have anything I can print in tomorrow’s paper?” she asked directly.
Hyder gulped. “The story didn’t pan out.”
Dunny dropped what she was doing and leaned back. “Do explain?”
“Well, the information we received was not… entirely correct.”
The
Daily Times
had a sort of agreement with the Franklin Police Department: If anything newsworthy ever occurred, they would, out of professional courtesy, pass on that information to them. In return, if there were stories the force did not want made public right away the newspaper would accommodate them accordingly.
Naturally, both the force and the newspaper tried to take advantage of this agreement. There would be times where the newspaper would hear about an incident but not tell the force until they had their story. And on the other side, the force would not divulge any information until they were certain it wouldn’t bring any negative light on them.
Earlier, someone had notified the
Daily Times
of a robbery at a convenience store.
Hyder had been sent to get a story. He had returned with nothing.
“Did a robbery occur or not?” Dunny asked slowly.
“It did, but…”
“Then why don’t I have a story?”
“It wasn’t worth writing about.”
Dunny leaned forward. “
Everything
is worth writing about. If someone slips and falls, even if it looks like it is nothing, we will make a story out of it. Was something wrong with the sidewalk? Were the shoes they were wearing defective? Was there a sign anywhere informing the walker of a dangerous condition up ahead? There are stories all around you. It is your job to find what they are.”
Hyder didn’t have a response.
Her voice suddenly softened. “Hyder, I know what they call me in this office and quite frankly, it doesn’t bother me one bit. The newspaper industry is changing and it is changing for the worse. Our circulation has gone down almost fifty-percent. Our advertisers are running away in droves. They’ve already forecasted the end of the printed newspaper. It is, therefore, our job to give the readers something they could not get elsewhere, and that is good, solid stories. If we fail to do that then we might as well go find another profession to be in.”
Hyder fully grasped her point. If he didn’t find stories she could print, he might as well find someplace else to work.
“Got it, boss,” he finally said.
SEVEN
Hyder returned to his desk, completely deflated. He logged into his laptop and began going through his e-mails.
Twenty minutes later he heard a knock on his cubicle.
Veronica Ainsworth was in her early forties. She had been with the
Daily Times
from the moment she had graduated twenty years ago. She had started as an assistant to an assistant and had worked her way up to lead reporter at the city desk. This meant if there was anything big happening, Veronica was the first on the list to cover it.
“How’d it go with the Killer Bunny?” Veronica asked.
Hyder made a sad face.
“That bad, huh?”
Veronica had always been good to Hyder. She had sort of taken him under her wing. She was very maternal to him, even going out of her way to shield him from Dunny.
“You should have spoken to me first before going into the lion’s den,” she said.
“I know,” Hyder replied. “But I thought I could handle it.”
“Did she give you the speech about her trying to save our industry?”
“Yeah, she kinda did.”
“Let me tell you something.” Veronica put her hands on her hips. “When the time comes there is nothing Dunny or anyone else can do to save our jobs, remember that.”
Hyder hated to admit it, but she was right.
Hyder had always wanted to tell stories. He’d quickly realized he could tell
real
stories by becoming a journalist.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
“The reason I also came by was to tell you the Mailroom guys were looking for you.”
“Do you know about what?” Hyder asked, curious.
“No idea, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
With that she was gone.
Hyder looked at the laptop screen and then decided to go check it out.
He took the elevator two floors down and went straight up to the Mailroom counter.
He rang a bell and a man appeared.
Jerry was almost seventy years old. He had been working at the
Daily Times
for over fifty years. There were rumors that when the time came Jerry would be buried under the building.
Hyder wasn’t sure if that was true or not.
“Name?” Jerry said as if Hyder had been there for the first time.
Hyder gave it.
Jerry opened a ledger and slowly proceeded to go down it.
“Ali?” he said.
“Yep. That’s me.”
Jerry disappeared from view. A minute later he returned with a piece of paper.
“A package came by courier and it stated that it had to be signed by you. I sent someone upstairs to look for you, but they couldn’t find you. Anyways, you’ll have to pick it up yourself from the post office.”
Jerry handed him the paper.
Hyder looked at the time. He was in Dunny’s office when the courier had come.
Hyder shoved the paper in his pocket and went back up.
As he was moving toward his cubicle he spotted Veronica rushing to leave.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Just got a call about a suicide,” she said.
“Where is it?”
“Franklin U.”
“Do you know who it is?” Hyder was curious.
“Yeah, some guy named Freeland.”
Hyder’s mouth nearly dropped.
“Can I tag along?” he quickly asked.
“Why?”
“He was my professor.”
EIGHT
“It could be murder,” Nolan said, turning to Lopez.