Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Got nothin’ to say to you,” Dern returned.
“Okay then, let me tell you, we’re looking at murder and you’re indicated. So, now you know why we’re here, you gonna stick with that?”
The color fled Dern’s face.
Harry kept at him. “Now, I don’t think you pulled any of the triggers, but I do think it wouldn’t be tough to find my way to believing you were an accessory or aided and abetted, either before or after the fact…” he paused for effect, “on all three.”
When Harry said “three,” Dern started looking sick.
This, unfortunately, could mean anything.
Harry had cleaned house when he took over. That meant he gave the officers on staff the opportunity to pull their shit tight or get out. Some left. Some Harry knew were useless, so he found reasons to let them go.
Some of them, Harry also knew, were still close to Dern.
Therefore, Harry had no doubt Dern knew they were looking at his cases. He had no doubt Dern would know they’d find something. And he had no doubt, as a former cop, that the time Dern did in prison was probably not very fun.
He could just be tweaked about anything that even hinted at a road back there.
Or he could be involved in one—or three—murders, and he knew it.
“So I suggest you put your fucking dog in your house, leave the gun in there too, and have a chat with me and my detective,” Harry concluded.
Dern, being Dern, wasted a good minute of their time by having a staring contest with Harry.
This pissed him off, because he’d felt his phone vibrate, so he knew Lillian had replied, and he didn’t want to be standing there for an hour having a staring contest. He wanted to get this done so he could read and reply to it.
Dern finally turned and moved to the door of his house.
Harry pulled out his phone and checked his texts.
Yeah, honey. Want anything special for dinner? She asked.
We’ll do that farro thing, he replied.
He was able to read her OK before Dern returned.
Harry shoved his phone back in his pocket.
Rus muttered, “She good?” under his breath.
Harry nodded, his attention on Dern.
Dern led with, “I see you’re trumping up more charges like landing my ass in prison and taking my office wasn’t enough for you.”
He and Rus discussed this on the long ride out there.
They decided not to let the Rainier situation slip, because Rus’s poking around might have been reported to Gerald and Michelle Dietrich, and they were already spooked enough, but they still had ties to MP. He didn’t need them to vanish.
So they decided on Ballard and to leave Dern guessing about the rest.
“You wanna tell me why you didn’t assign Muggsy Ballard’s case to me or Roy?”
“Who?” Dern demanded.
“Roy, your other detective. Remember him?”
“No, I remember Roy. Of course I remember Roy,” Dern spat. “What’s the case?”
“Muggsy Ballard. Given name Clifford,” Harry told him.
“No clue who that is,” Dern replied.
“Suicide,” Rus chimed in. “Who somehow got the shit kicked out of him before he allegedly blew his own brains out.”
“And no GSR test was ordered,” Harry added.
“And no friend or family member noted suicidal tendencies, ideations or depression,” Rus put in. “Though the case file says they did.”
“But the dead guy had a dream to get rich fast, and he dealt with some shady characters to do it,” Harry said. “In fact, at the time he died, he was waiting for a deal to make good that he was sure would get him a house on the lake.”
“Right, that loser,” Dern muttered.
Both men on his walk shifted with annoyed agitation.
“Roy had a full plate,” Dern stated. “He did the legwork, asked me to tie up loose ends and put it to bed. Only reason why I was the investigator on record.”
This was news, and not how Harry remembered it.
It was also suspicious, and bottom line suspect police work. You investigated a case, you signed your fucking name to it.
But like Polly said, all sorts of shit went down at the station that they hid from Harry. The two camps were staunchly divided by then. Half the deputies didn’t talk to the other half. Roy, for instance, on the regular avoided Harry like he was contagious.
“What loose ends did you tie up?” Rus asked.
“Fuck if I know,” Dern replied. “That was years ago.” His gaze narrowed on Harry. “But Roy was a good cop, one who didn’t deserve to lose his job. Probably just had to look it over before I signed off.”
Roy was a lazy ass who would never pass a physical, if Dern did what Harry did and made his deputies, even his investigators, pass one once a year.
This was eventually how Harry was able to get rid of him. The man refused to give up his daily burgers and malts from The Double D, and as such, couldn’t run around the high school track without doubling over halfway. Harry gave him an extra three months to get in some semblance of shape and try again, but he’d failed again.