Read Online Hello, Darkness by Sandra Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Police Procedural, Police psychologists, Young Women, Crimes against, Kidnapping, Radio broadcasters, Young women - Crimes against
Ads: Link
heart had converged there. The oxygen in the room seemed insufficient. She was breathing with difficulty while striving to appear perfectly composed.
Dean wasn’t doing so well either. When it became obvious that shock had robbed him of manners, Curtis motioned Paris into the nearest chair. That snapped Dean out of his daze. “Uh, yeah, please, sit. Both of you.”
As they were taking their seats, Curtis said, “I’m not a detective for nothing. I gather you two know each other.”
She relied on her voice to earn her living, but it had deserted her. She left it to Dean to do the talking.
“From Houston,” he said. “Years ago. I was with the PD and Paris…”
He looked at her expectantly, leaving her no option but to take up the explanation. “I was a reporter for one of the television stations.”
Curtis raised his pale eyebrows in surprise. “Television? I assumed you’d always been on radio.”
She glanced at Dean, then shook her head. “I moved from TV to radio.”
Curtis murmured an acknowledgment that said he understood the transition when clearly he didn’t understand at all.
“Excuse me.” Ms. Lester came in carrying a tray. As she set it on Dean’s desk, she asked, “Cream and sugar, anyone?”
They all declined. She filled three mugs from a stainless-steel carafe, then asked Dean if there would be anything else. He shook his head and thanked her.
Curtis watched her leave. When he turned back around he remarked, “I’m impressed. They don’t spring for personal assistants in CIB.”
“What?” Dean looked at him with confusion, then at the empty doorway. “Oh, Ms. Lester. She’s not my personal assistant. She just…She’s just very efficient. Treats everybody over here like that.”
“Over here” referred to the annex next door to the main building of police headquarters. It was accessible through a connecting parking garage, which was the route Paris and Curtis had taken. The detective didn’t seem to buy Dean’s explanation for the secretary’s attention any more than Paris did, but he didn’t comment on it further.
Paris wrapped both hands around the steaming mug of coffee, grateful for the warmth it provided. Dean took a gulp of his that probably blistered his tongue.
Curtis said, “I had no idea that I would be reuniting two long-lost friends.”
“Paris didn’t know about my transfer here,” Dean said, watching her closely. “Or if she did—”
“I didn’t. I assumed you were still in Houston.”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
Curtis filled the ensuing gap in conversation. “Up until Dr. Malloy joined us, we used civilians and paid them a consulting fee. But for a long time, we’d been needing and wanting a psychologist on staff, a member of the department, someone with experience and training as a cop as well as a psychologist. Early this year, the funding was finally approved and we were lucky enough to lure Dr. Malloy here.”
“How nice.” She included both of them in her perfunctory smile.
After another short silence, Dean cleared his throat again and addressed the detective. “You mentioned a matter that could be important.”
Curtis sought a more comfortable position in his chair. “Are you familiar with Ms. Gibson’s radio program?”
“I listen to it every night.”
Her head came up quickly and she looked at Dean with surprise. Their eyes connected for several seconds before he turned back to Curtis.
“Then you know she takes call-in requests and such,” the detective said. Dean nodded. “Last night, she received a call that disturbed her. With cause.” Curtis went on to explain the nature of Valentino’s call, then concluded by saying, “I thought you might take a listen and give us your professional opinion.”
“I’ll be glad to. Let’s hear it.”
Curtis had brought the cassette player with him. He set it on the desk, rewound the tape, and after several false starts for which he apologized, her voice filled the taut silence:
Dean wasn’t doing so well either. When it became obvious that shock had robbed him of manners, Curtis motioned Paris into the nearest chair. That snapped Dean out of his daze. “Uh, yeah, please, sit. Both of you.”
As they were taking their seats, Curtis said, “I’m not a detective for nothing. I gather you two know each other.”
She relied on her voice to earn her living, but it had deserted her. She left it to Dean to do the talking.
“From Houston,” he said. “Years ago. I was with the PD and Paris…”
He looked at her expectantly, leaving her no option but to take up the explanation. “I was a reporter for one of the television stations.”
Curtis raised his pale eyebrows in surprise. “Television? I assumed you’d always been on radio.”
She glanced at Dean, then shook her head. “I moved from TV to radio.”
Curtis murmured an acknowledgment that said he understood the transition when clearly he didn’t understand at all.
“Excuse me.” Ms. Lester came in carrying a tray. As she set it on Dean’s desk, she asked, “Cream and sugar, anyone?”
They all declined. She filled three mugs from a stainless-steel carafe, then asked Dean if there would be anything else. He shook his head and thanked her.
Curtis watched her leave. When he turned back around he remarked, “I’m impressed. They don’t spring for personal assistants in CIB.”
“What?” Dean looked at him with confusion, then at the empty doorway. “Oh, Ms. Lester. She’s not my personal assistant. She just…She’s just very efficient. Treats everybody over here like that.”
“Over here” referred to the annex next door to the main building of police headquarters. It was accessible through a connecting parking garage, which was the route Paris and Curtis had taken. The detective didn’t seem to buy Dean’s explanation for the secretary’s attention any more than Paris did, but he didn’t comment on it further.
Paris wrapped both hands around the steaming mug of coffee, grateful for the warmth it provided. Dean took a gulp of his that probably blistered his tongue.
Curtis said, “I had no idea that I would be reuniting two long-lost friends.”
“Paris didn’t know about my transfer here,” Dean said, watching her closely. “Or if she did—”
“I didn’t. I assumed you were still in Houston.”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
Curtis filled the ensuing gap in conversation. “Up until Dr. Malloy joined us, we used civilians and paid them a consulting fee. But for a long time, we’d been needing and wanting a psychologist on staff, a member of the department, someone with experience and training as a cop as well as a psychologist. Early this year, the funding was finally approved and we were lucky enough to lure Dr. Malloy here.”
“How nice.” She included both of them in her perfunctory smile.
After another short silence, Dean cleared his throat again and addressed the detective. “You mentioned a matter that could be important.”
Curtis sought a more comfortable position in his chair. “Are you familiar with Ms. Gibson’s radio program?”
“I listen to it every night.”
Her head came up quickly and she looked at Dean with surprise. Their eyes connected for several seconds before he turned back to Curtis.
“Then you know she takes call-in requests and such,” the detective said. Dean nodded. “Last night, she received a call that disturbed her. With cause.” Curtis went on to explain the nature of Valentino’s call, then concluded by saying, “I thought you might take a listen and give us your professional opinion.”
“I’ll be glad to. Let’s hear it.”
Curtis had brought the cassette player with him. He set it on the desk, rewound the tape, and after several false starts for which he apologized, her voice filled the taut silence:
Similar Books
