Read Online Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Don Pendleton
Ads: Link
too."
She came on in. We shook hands. I felt a bit awkward. Obviously, she had been Murray's secretary. I couldn't read happy or sad in her face, just nice. She told me, "I'd be glad to stay awhile and help you get settled."
"I probably won't be here long enough to get settled," I replied soberly. "But maybe you could help me onto a fingerhold. You worked for Tim Murray?"
She nodded. "The past five years. And I've been doing the necessary paperwork since he, uh, left."
"Did Murray get shafted?" I asked bluntly.
She met my gaze for an embarrassed moment, then dropped her eyes to say, "I never felt that he was incompetent."
"Get along well with him?"
"Well enough. He allowed me... considerable freedom."
"Meaning that you ran this office for him."
She locked onto my gaze again as she replied, "That is what secretaries do."
I closed the file drawer and carried a stack of manila folders to the desk, deposited them there, told her, "From the looks of things here, you do it very well."
"Thank you."
"Thank you. Married?"
"Yes."
"Kids?"
"Two, a boy and a girl. They're in high school."
"Like your job?"
"I love my job."
"Do you live in Brighton?"
"Yes."
"What does your husband do?"
"He's a teacher."
"Treat you right?"
"When 1 treat him right, yes."
"So you've got it made."
She smiled, and it was nice—like the rest of her. "I guess so."
"You'd like to keep it that way."
"Of course."
"Do yourself a favor, then. You've been running this office for five years. That gives you a highly privileged view of this town and this department. Where is the garbage buried?"
The smile faded. "What?"
"Something stinks here. What stinks?"
She said, "I'm not sure I. .."
"You do, you know what I mean. You have a stake in this town. Work here, live here, your kids growing up here. Where is the garbage buried?"
She had come in so perky, so composed, so nice. Now she was confused, troubled, unnerved. "I'd heard that you were very direct."
"Have to be. I'm in a revolving door. I'll be gone next week. You won't be. You live here, your family lives here. Give it a shot. Help me find the garbage."
She took a deep breath and showed me a shaky smile, then marched over to the file cabinet I'd just vacated, pulled open a drawer, removed a file, brought it to me and placed it in my hands, told me, "Maybe it's buried here," and left without saying goodbye.
I looked at the file, noted the tabbed inscription. Task Force, removed a single sheet of paper. It was a copy of a letter signed by Tim Murray and addressed jointly to the sheriff of San Bernardino County and the head of the regional DEA office, a notification that Brighton was withdrawing from the joint drug enforcement task force. The letter was dated three years ago.
While I was pondering that, Jack Ralston came into the office with a long face to tell me, "Maybe we have an ID on our two John Does." He placed two blackened badges on my desk. "Evidence technicians dug these out of the burned rubble of the car. Belonged to two of our undercover narcotics officers, Hanson and Rodriguez. Both men are missing, haven't been seen since early last evening." He sighed heavily, almost painfully. "There may have been a terrible mistake here."
I picked up the badges and inspected them closely. It
was obvious that they had been subjected to intense heat. I said, "Maybe. But I need to tell you something about that car and its occupants. Minutes before the car crashed and burned, it tried to run me down on the sidewalk outside the newspaper building. Obviously I had been under surveillance and the intent was to take me out. Do you
She came on in. We shook hands. I felt a bit awkward. Obviously, she had been Murray's secretary. I couldn't read happy or sad in her face, just nice. She told me, "I'd be glad to stay awhile and help you get settled."
"I probably won't be here long enough to get settled," I replied soberly. "But maybe you could help me onto a fingerhold. You worked for Tim Murray?"
She nodded. "The past five years. And I've been doing the necessary paperwork since he, uh, left."
"Did Murray get shafted?" I asked bluntly.
She met my gaze for an embarrassed moment, then dropped her eyes to say, "I never felt that he was incompetent."
"Get along well with him?"
"Well enough. He allowed me... considerable freedom."
"Meaning that you ran this office for him."
She locked onto my gaze again as she replied, "That is what secretaries do."
I closed the file drawer and carried a stack of manila folders to the desk, deposited them there, told her, "From the looks of things here, you do it very well."
"Thank you."
"Thank you. Married?"
"Yes."
"Kids?"
"Two, a boy and a girl. They're in high school."
"Like your job?"
"I love my job."
"Do you live in Brighton?"
"Yes."
"What does your husband do?"
"He's a teacher."
"Treat you right?"
"When 1 treat him right, yes."
"So you've got it made."
She smiled, and it was nice—like the rest of her. "I guess so."
"You'd like to keep it that way."
"Of course."
"Do yourself a favor, then. You've been running this office for five years. That gives you a highly privileged view of this town and this department. Where is the garbage buried?"
The smile faded. "What?"
"Something stinks here. What stinks?"
She said, "I'm not sure I. .."
"You do, you know what I mean. You have a stake in this town. Work here, live here, your kids growing up here. Where is the garbage buried?"
She had come in so perky, so composed, so nice. Now she was confused, troubled, unnerved. "I'd heard that you were very direct."
"Have to be. I'm in a revolving door. I'll be gone next week. You won't be. You live here, your family lives here. Give it a shot. Help me find the garbage."
She took a deep breath and showed me a shaky smile, then marched over to the file cabinet I'd just vacated, pulled open a drawer, removed a file, brought it to me and placed it in my hands, told me, "Maybe it's buried here," and left without saying goodbye.
I looked at the file, noted the tabbed inscription. Task Force, removed a single sheet of paper. It was a copy of a letter signed by Tim Murray and addressed jointly to the sheriff of San Bernardino County and the head of the regional DEA office, a notification that Brighton was withdrawing from the joint drug enforcement task force. The letter was dated three years ago.
While I was pondering that, Jack Ralston came into the office with a long face to tell me, "Maybe we have an ID on our two John Does." He placed two blackened badges on my desk. "Evidence technicians dug these out of the burned rubble of the car. Belonged to two of our undercover narcotics officers, Hanson and Rodriguez. Both men are missing, haven't been seen since early last evening." He sighed heavily, almost painfully. "There may have been a terrible mistake here."
I picked up the badges and inspected them closely. It
was obvious that they had been subjected to intense heat. I said, "Maybe. But I need to tell you something about that car and its occupants. Minutes before the car crashed and burned, it tried to run me down on the sidewalk outside the newspaper building. Obviously I had been under surveillance and the intent was to take me out. Do you
Similar Books
