Read Online Deception by Randy Alcorn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Randy Alcorn
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery Fiction, Police, Christian fiction, Religious, Christian, Portland (Or.), Police - Oregon - Portland
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like a mechanic looking at a spark plug.
I resumed sketching the floor plan, drawing in body location, furniture, telephone, computer. I took out a measuring tape and stretched it from body to walls, three directions.
I heard commotion at the front door. Clarence’s cell phone rang again.
“Carp’s at the front door,” he said. “They won’t let her in.”
“They won’t let a newspaper photographer into a crime scene? What’s wrong with those cops?”
I walked to the front door. Lynn Carpenter stood there, camera in hand, Tribune ID hanging from her neck, like it said FBI or CTU or something. Guerino’s arm stretched out in front of her.
“Can you believe this?” Dorsey asked.
“A newspaper photographer!” Guerino said.
“I hate to be the one to say it, boys. Let her in.”
“A reporter and a photographer inside a crime scene?”
“Next year they’ll be selling Cracker Jacks and letting in the general public,” I said. “Ten dollars a head. Box seats for forty bucks. Touch the corpse for a hundred. Then they’ll be auctioning crime scene memorabilia on eBay.”
“This is wrong,” Guerino moaned.
“Tell me about it.” I handed gloves and foot covers to Carp. “Keep ’em on.”
“Nice to see you too, Detective,” she said.
I felt slightly bad considering she’d been a big help on Clarence’s sister’s case ten years ago.
“I’m Ollie, your tour guide.”
I extended my hand, glove touching glove. Her face melted into a smile. I can be a real charmer with the ladies. Carp had changed since I’d last seen her. She’d been a quiet tomboy; now she was warmer and more feminine. Age had softened her. I liked it.
With most of the team staring at her, I cleared my throat and said, “I got an e-mail from Chief Lennox.” I looked at Clarence. “It even had an attachment. The deal is that the Oregon Tribune —our beloved newspaper, so cherished by this police department—can take pictures of this crime scene. They can’t print any photo without department clearance. Can’t divulge sensitive information. They won’t jeopardize our investigation. Anyway, that’s what they tell me. If they get in your way, respectfully Taser them or beat them senseless with a nightstick.”
There were a number of chuckles, including Carp’s. None from Abernathy.
Carp’s camera started flashing. Clarence was looking over my shoulder like a three-hundred-pound gargoyle. I walked to the professor’s desk, turning my best side to the camera.
“Walk me through procedure,” Clarence said.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve written Ollie’s Rules of Investigation. I’ll give you a copy. Ninety-two of them. The first ten are never touch anything. Number 11 is protect the scene. Number 12 is write everything down. Number 13 is don’t trust what anybody else writes down. Number 14 is don’t trust anyone who says they didn’t touch anything, especially if they keep insisting on it.”
“What were you doing with the measuring tape?”
“Triangulating body location. An inch here and there can make all the difference.”
I went to the front door and asked Dorsey, “Witnesses?”
“Nobody. The people we’ve talked to came when they saw the patrol cars or got a wake-up call from the media. Some are from those apartments.”
He pointed at a two-story building the next street over, where most of the blinds were closed. I saw one television on, and in the next apartment, barely visible, someone with elbows pointed outward, which made me think they might be holding binoculars.
“Nobody we’ve talked with on this street saw anything—except somebody noticed two vagrants who often wander over here from their settlement three streets down.”
“Who made the 911 call?”
He shrugged. “Want me to check?”
“Manny’ll handle it. Talk to the rubbernecks?” I pointed to the dozen people on the other side of a police tape, including three kids who should’ve been in bed.
“We’ve focused
I resumed sketching the floor plan, drawing in body location, furniture, telephone, computer. I took out a measuring tape and stretched it from body to walls, three directions.
I heard commotion at the front door. Clarence’s cell phone rang again.
“Carp’s at the front door,” he said. “They won’t let her in.”
“They won’t let a newspaper photographer into a crime scene? What’s wrong with those cops?”
I walked to the front door. Lynn Carpenter stood there, camera in hand, Tribune ID hanging from her neck, like it said FBI or CTU or something. Guerino’s arm stretched out in front of her.
“Can you believe this?” Dorsey asked.
“A newspaper photographer!” Guerino said.
“I hate to be the one to say it, boys. Let her in.”
“A reporter and a photographer inside a crime scene?”
“Next year they’ll be selling Cracker Jacks and letting in the general public,” I said. “Ten dollars a head. Box seats for forty bucks. Touch the corpse for a hundred. Then they’ll be auctioning crime scene memorabilia on eBay.”
“This is wrong,” Guerino moaned.
“Tell me about it.” I handed gloves and foot covers to Carp. “Keep ’em on.”
“Nice to see you too, Detective,” she said.
I felt slightly bad considering she’d been a big help on Clarence’s sister’s case ten years ago.
“I’m Ollie, your tour guide.”
I extended my hand, glove touching glove. Her face melted into a smile. I can be a real charmer with the ladies. Carp had changed since I’d last seen her. She’d been a quiet tomboy; now she was warmer and more feminine. Age had softened her. I liked it.
With most of the team staring at her, I cleared my throat and said, “I got an e-mail from Chief Lennox.” I looked at Clarence. “It even had an attachment. The deal is that the Oregon Tribune —our beloved newspaper, so cherished by this police department—can take pictures of this crime scene. They can’t print any photo without department clearance. Can’t divulge sensitive information. They won’t jeopardize our investigation. Anyway, that’s what they tell me. If they get in your way, respectfully Taser them or beat them senseless with a nightstick.”
There were a number of chuckles, including Carp’s. None from Abernathy.
Carp’s camera started flashing. Clarence was looking over my shoulder like a three-hundred-pound gargoyle. I walked to the professor’s desk, turning my best side to the camera.
“Walk me through procedure,” Clarence said.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve written Ollie’s Rules of Investigation. I’ll give you a copy. Ninety-two of them. The first ten are never touch anything. Number 11 is protect the scene. Number 12 is write everything down. Number 13 is don’t trust what anybody else writes down. Number 14 is don’t trust anyone who says they didn’t touch anything, especially if they keep insisting on it.”
“What were you doing with the measuring tape?”
“Triangulating body location. An inch here and there can make all the difference.”
I went to the front door and asked Dorsey, “Witnesses?”
“Nobody. The people we’ve talked to came when they saw the patrol cars or got a wake-up call from the media. Some are from those apartments.”
He pointed at a two-story building the next street over, where most of the blinds were closed. I saw one television on, and in the next apartment, barely visible, someone with elbows pointed outward, which made me think they might be holding binoculars.
“Nobody we’ve talked with on this street saw anything—except somebody noticed two vagrants who often wander over here from their settlement three streets down.”
“Who made the 911 call?”
He shrugged. “Want me to check?”
“Manny’ll handle it. Talk to the rubbernecks?” I pointed to the dozen people on the other side of a police tape, including three kids who should’ve been in bed.
“We’ve focused
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