"Hunter, Jeffrey - A Secret Affair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hunter Jeffrey)

John was going to drive by when the blip of a police siren startled him. Pulling up next to him was another detective in Persons Crimes, the man who had taken his statement about the robbery.

"Hey John, you must have gotten the news?"

He tried to think quickly, but he faltered and could only respond with a grunt.

"ID got a print off that spent shotgun shell. Get this, it matches the print we got off of Anna Hail's purse. But that's not the best. A waitress at the Waffle House recognized the shooter as an ex-employee. Roy Scott. Can you believe that dumbass? He was sitting on fifty grand worth of necklace and there he is sticking up a fucking Waffle House. But hey, he wasn't that much of a fuck-up, I heard Tom Stern was one of the vics. Now that's some poetic justice, isn't it? I think we actually found one douchebag Stern won't be defending."

"They find the necklace?" John asked, dreading the answer.

"I was up there for a while, then I left to take a leak and grab some coffee from the Coffee Cup. Up until I left they hadn't found anything except some dope and paraphenalia. Let's go have a lookee see, huh?"

Roy Scott's apartment stank of rancid food and stale beer. John tried to avoid the probing eyes of the evening shift detectives. He didn't know any of them, and he was sure they were curious as to who he was, but he tailed the sergeant closely so there would be no questions asked. For the second time today, John stretched a pair of heavy gauge rubber gloves onto his hands after the sergeant did the same. From another room he heard the enchanting words, "We ain't found nothing yet, except that dope and stuff. Not a total loss."

John gave himself a silent cheer and walked into the small, closet-sized kitchen. He stretched his act out for a few minutes, perusing the single cabinet, the garbage, and the coffee can that was full of change. That's probably where the dope was, he thought. Then, nonchalantly, he moved to the freezer. A blast of cold, sour air smacked his face, but that wasn't what made him flinch. It was the emptiness of the freezer that stabbed him. You fucking lying bastard, Roy Scott.

John checked the inventory log that listed all the property being removed from the apartment. Nothing like the plastic water bottle Roy Scott had told him about. John made a careful round of the apartment, checking each person to see if he or she carried a plastic water bottle. None of them did. Dejected, John told the sergeant he was going down the road to take a leak, and that he'd be back. On the way to the door John nearly bumped into a uniform on the way in. The uniform itself was adorned with brass that gleamed and sparkled brilliantly under the bright lights the detectives had set up. A captain. Before John could move out of the way, the captain looked at him with a halting stare.

"Have you found the necklace yet?"

In that instant John wondered what da'Hell a captain was doing there. Anna Hail was no ordinary citizen, not if she had police captains running around the city in search of her precious necklace. Suddenly it felt as if he were carrying the weight of a brick in his pocket.

"I don't think they've found it yet."

"You don't think? Well have they or haven't they, Detective?"

John shot him a what-a-fucking-asshole look.

"Ahh, no sir."

John waited for the him to move on, but the stiff-faced thirty-something captain stood stubbornly in his path. He was a tall, clean-shaven man and he wore a strong, sporty-style cologne. The captain looked down angrily at John's face.

"Have you been drinking, Detective?"

The question was asked quietly, but to John it might as well have been shouted into a bullhorn. John couldn't answer. His face tightened and he was outside of himself for a moment, looking on as if he were a different person. Look at the drunk idiot, about to be busted for booze on his breath. For two years he'd kept the affair a secret, now some captain he'd never seen before was hungry for his blood.

"Uh, Captain, this is Detective Butscher, he's the fella who was involved in the Waffle House incident today. He's off-duty and I asked him to come over tonight, since he's seen our suspect. I'm sure he just had a drink to take the edge off after work. As I'm sure you know, it's not every day that we cops get shot at."

The last portion of the sergeant's plea was a stab at the captain, who by the looks of him had never had anything more serious than a hang-nail on the job.

"Fine, Sergeant. I want you to take him home immediately, in your car. I will deal with him on a later date."

The sergeant's car was unusually warm, and condensation had formed on the lower portion of the windshield. John sank into the passenger's seat. Nothing was mentioned about the booze as they began the ride to John's home, but John's relief fled when the sergeant asked about his activities in the kitchen.

"You were looking in the freezer, John. That's interesting. Alotta guys completely ignore the freezer, not purposely, they just overlook it. You went straight to the kitchen. Something you learned on the job?"

"Nope. Had to start somewhere, I guess."

John felt something brush against his shoe. He looked down to see a white plastic screw-cap rolling with the car's movement. Across the top was the word IGLOO.