Read Online Double Minds by Terri Blackstock - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terri Blackstock
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rang on Rayzo’s desk. “Rayzo here.”
Gibson headed to his own desk. He heard Rayzo grunting into the phone, muttering something unintelligible. When he hung up, he called out, “Chief wants to see us. He wants us to bring everything we’ve got on the Colgate case.”
Gibson set his coffee down. “What for?”
“Got me.”
Rayzo grabbed the disk Gibson had just given him and the little notebook with all his notes from last night. “Grab those pictures you printed out and anything else you got.”
Gibson just stared at him. “All of it? Every last thing?”
“You heard me.”
Gibson scrambled to get all his stuff together. If he’d known he was going to have to make a presentation he wouldn’t have taken the time to sleep. The chief tied Gibson’s stomach in knots. He was impatient and brusque—like Rayzo, only with more power—and he hated explanations and excuses. Maybe he thought the case should have been solved on the spot, like the other three Gibson had worked on. But those had been easier. There had been witnesses and motives and trace evidence lying out for anyone to see. All they’d had to do was question people who knew the decedents, and they’d had those cases solved.
Didn’t the chief know that this one was tougher? A drive-by shooting with no witnesses?
He gathered all his notes and pictures and followed Rayzo upstairs. Chief Sims wasn’t ready to see them, so Rayzo took a seat on an old couch with creaky springs that looked like something the chief might have dug out of one of those dumpsters Gibson swam through last night. The chief had furnished the entire police headquarters with second-hand furniture, much of it from garage sales. The city council loved him for it.
Dog tired, Gibson kept standing anyway, wanting to appear energetic and on top of the situation. But fatigue sent toxins into his shoulders and neck, aching through the muscles of his back. Night before last he’d been awake all night because his roommate was having a screaming fight with his hysterical girlfriend. He’d had no idea then that he’d get so little sleep the next night, too.
Finally, the chief’s door opened. Chief Sims was a short, skinny guy with facial hair that looked like peach fuzz, but he had a deep bass voice that made up for his small stature. A radio voice, Gibson thought. If police chiefing failed, he could always be a DJ.
“Get in here, guys,” the chief boomed. “Let me see what you’ve got on the Brenna Evans murder.” He went back around his desk and plopped into his chair. Something about Sims’s huge chair intimidated Gibson, and those knots constricted more tightly around his stomach.
Rayzo laid out everything they had while Gibson sat like an idiot.
The chief leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Look, guys, no need to beat around the bush. I’m taking you off the case.”
“What?” Rayzo asked. “Why?”
“Because of you, James.”
Gibson felt the blood draining from his face. He’d known it. The moment he’d passed the detective exam and been assigned to Homicide, he’d known it was just a matter of time before he botched something and ruined this chance.
“Conflict of interest,” Sims said. “Your sister works at Colgate, James. I think you have a stake in this. Makes it hard to see things objectively.”
Relief trickled through him. So it wasn’t his performance. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
At the same time, defensiveness crept in. “I understand your concerns, sir. But the fact that the victim was at my sister’s desk makes me even more anxious to solve the crime. I also have an advantage—I know a lot of the people who were there.”
Chief Sims propped his elbows on the desk, rested his face in his hands. “Yes, you work on the side as a studio musician, don’t you?”
Gibson looked at Rayzo and swallowed, wondering if that would upset the chief. There was no policy against it, yet he knew the chief expected total devotion
Gibson headed to his own desk. He heard Rayzo grunting into the phone, muttering something unintelligible. When he hung up, he called out, “Chief wants to see us. He wants us to bring everything we’ve got on the Colgate case.”
Gibson set his coffee down. “What for?”
“Got me.”
Rayzo grabbed the disk Gibson had just given him and the little notebook with all his notes from last night. “Grab those pictures you printed out and anything else you got.”
Gibson just stared at him. “All of it? Every last thing?”
“You heard me.”
Gibson scrambled to get all his stuff together. If he’d known he was going to have to make a presentation he wouldn’t have taken the time to sleep. The chief tied Gibson’s stomach in knots. He was impatient and brusque—like Rayzo, only with more power—and he hated explanations and excuses. Maybe he thought the case should have been solved on the spot, like the other three Gibson had worked on. But those had been easier. There had been witnesses and motives and trace evidence lying out for anyone to see. All they’d had to do was question people who knew the decedents, and they’d had those cases solved.
Didn’t the chief know that this one was tougher? A drive-by shooting with no witnesses?
He gathered all his notes and pictures and followed Rayzo upstairs. Chief Sims wasn’t ready to see them, so Rayzo took a seat on an old couch with creaky springs that looked like something the chief might have dug out of one of those dumpsters Gibson swam through last night. The chief had furnished the entire police headquarters with second-hand furniture, much of it from garage sales. The city council loved him for it.
Dog tired, Gibson kept standing anyway, wanting to appear energetic and on top of the situation. But fatigue sent toxins into his shoulders and neck, aching through the muscles of his back. Night before last he’d been awake all night because his roommate was having a screaming fight with his hysterical girlfriend. He’d had no idea then that he’d get so little sleep the next night, too.
Finally, the chief’s door opened. Chief Sims was a short, skinny guy with facial hair that looked like peach fuzz, but he had a deep bass voice that made up for his small stature. A radio voice, Gibson thought. If police chiefing failed, he could always be a DJ.
“Get in here, guys,” the chief boomed. “Let me see what you’ve got on the Brenna Evans murder.” He went back around his desk and plopped into his chair. Something about Sims’s huge chair intimidated Gibson, and those knots constricted more tightly around his stomach.
Rayzo laid out everything they had while Gibson sat like an idiot.
The chief leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Look, guys, no need to beat around the bush. I’m taking you off the case.”
“What?” Rayzo asked. “Why?”
“Because of you, James.”
Gibson felt the blood draining from his face. He’d known it. The moment he’d passed the detective exam and been assigned to Homicide, he’d known it was just a matter of time before he botched something and ruined this chance.
“Conflict of interest,” Sims said. “Your sister works at Colgate, James. I think you have a stake in this. Makes it hard to see things objectively.”
Relief trickled through him. So it wasn’t his performance. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
At the same time, defensiveness crept in. “I understand your concerns, sir. But the fact that the victim was at my sister’s desk makes me even more anxious to solve the crime. I also have an advantage—I know a lot of the people who were there.”
Chief Sims propped his elbows on the desk, rested his face in his hands. “Yes, you work on the side as a studio musician, don’t you?”
Gibson looked at Rayzo and swallowed, wondering if that would upset the chief. There was no policy against it, yet he knew the chief expected total devotion
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