treatment?”
“Yes, I’m fine, really. I want to do whatever needs to be done for you and for the insurance company, then my wife will come pick me up.”
“I’ll need to take a statement and I won’t keep you too long. Where do you live?”
“The Chetwynd development.”
“Sure, I know it, about fifteen minutes away. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll call her, I hate to put you out.” Jake hid his alarm. The last thing he wanted was to ride home with a cop, and God forbid that Ryan saw him pull up in a police cruiser.
“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to do it.”
Donna burst into laughter. “Of course he’s happy to do it! Officer John gets lonely tooling around in his copmobile, since his partner got reassigned. He’ll talk your ear off. The siren’s the only thing that shuts him up.”
“Ha! Very funny, Donna.” Officer McMullen laughed again, then motioned Jake forward in a way that was suddenly authoritative. “Come with me, sir. I’ll make an incident report, then I’ll give you a lift home. I insist.”
Chapter Eight
Jake followed Officer McMullen to his cruiser, a black-and-white muscle car with a massive chrome grille and a sleek modern lightbar on the roof. CHETWYND POLICE, read gold reflective letters on its jet-black door. Jake had managed not to be nervous when he’d given Officer McMullen his statement about the Dumpster accident because Donna had stayed with them, interrupting with chatter. But now that Jake was alone with the cop, he felt anxious about the ride home. He could have handled it before the news about Kathleen Lindstrom, but not now. It was as if he had too many emotions to hide.
“Mr. Buckman, there is no room for you up front. Don’t take it personally. My duty bag takes up the whole damn passenger seat. See?” Officer McMullen motioned to the front seat of the cruiser, where a gray nylon messenger bag filled the passenger seat next to a laptop mounted over the console, tilted toward the driver’s seat. A large black AK-47 was mounted upright between the two front seats, its butt down and its lethal muzzle facing up.
“I see,” Jake said, trying to get his act together.
“There’s not much room in this car, that’s the problem. We got these new Dodge Chargers with a hemi. We love ’em because they’re so fast. But they’re not that comfortable and the seats are small. Sometimes I miss the old Crown Vics.” Officer McMullen opened the back door. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you.” Jake climbed into the backseat, which had no cushioning, but was made of molded gray plastic and separated from the front seat by a metal barrier and a thick plastic panel, with a sliding window in the middle.
“Buckle up, sir.” Officer McMullen shut the heavy door, which made a solid sound.
“Thanks.” Jake reached for the shoulder harness, buckling himself in. He felt as if he deserved to be where he was, in the backseat of a cruiser. He should be under arrest, brought to justice to pay for the death of Kathleen Lindstrom.
“How you doing back there, sir? Could you be any less comfortable?” Officer McMullen climbed in the front seat, slammed his door closed, and buckled in his shoulder harness. He reached back and slid aside the window between the front seat and backseat, making a foot-wide opening.
“It’s fine, thanks,” Jake called back, miserably.
“Let’s roll.” Officer McMullen started the ignition, reversed out of the lot, and headed for the exit. “It’s a shame about your car.”
“It sure is.” Jake pulled out his iPhone and checked the time. It was almost nine o’clock, so Pam would be up. He prayed Ryan would still be in his room asleep, so he didn’t know about Kathleen yet.
“My brother-in-law has an Audi. They’re fast, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Excuse me, I’ll just text my wife and tell her we’re on the way.” Jake composed a text to Pam. Had a minor fender bender. Cop giving me a
“Yes, I’m fine, really. I want to do whatever needs to be done for you and for the insurance company, then my wife will come pick me up.”
“I’ll need to take a statement and I won’t keep you too long. Where do you live?”
“The Chetwynd development.”
“Sure, I know it, about fifteen minutes away. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll call her, I hate to put you out.” Jake hid his alarm. The last thing he wanted was to ride home with a cop, and God forbid that Ryan saw him pull up in a police cruiser.
“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to do it.”
Donna burst into laughter. “Of course he’s happy to do it! Officer John gets lonely tooling around in his copmobile, since his partner got reassigned. He’ll talk your ear off. The siren’s the only thing that shuts him up.”
“Ha! Very funny, Donna.” Officer McMullen laughed again, then motioned Jake forward in a way that was suddenly authoritative. “Come with me, sir. I’ll make an incident report, then I’ll give you a lift home. I insist.”
Chapter Eight
Jake followed Officer McMullen to his cruiser, a black-and-white muscle car with a massive chrome grille and a sleek modern lightbar on the roof. CHETWYND POLICE, read gold reflective letters on its jet-black door. Jake had managed not to be nervous when he’d given Officer McMullen his statement about the Dumpster accident because Donna had stayed with them, interrupting with chatter. But now that Jake was alone with the cop, he felt anxious about the ride home. He could have handled it before the news about Kathleen Lindstrom, but not now. It was as if he had too many emotions to hide.
“Mr. Buckman, there is no room for you up front. Don’t take it personally. My duty bag takes up the whole damn passenger seat. See?” Officer McMullen motioned to the front seat of the cruiser, where a gray nylon messenger bag filled the passenger seat next to a laptop mounted over the console, tilted toward the driver’s seat. A large black AK-47 was mounted upright between the two front seats, its butt down and its lethal muzzle facing up.
“I see,” Jake said, trying to get his act together.
“There’s not much room in this car, that’s the problem. We got these new Dodge Chargers with a hemi. We love ’em because they’re so fast. But they’re not that comfortable and the seats are small. Sometimes I miss the old Crown Vics.” Officer McMullen opened the back door. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you.” Jake climbed into the backseat, which had no cushioning, but was made of molded gray plastic and separated from the front seat by a metal barrier and a thick plastic panel, with a sliding window in the middle.
“Buckle up, sir.” Officer McMullen shut the heavy door, which made a solid sound.
“Thanks.” Jake reached for the shoulder harness, buckling himself in. He felt as if he deserved to be where he was, in the backseat of a cruiser. He should be under arrest, brought to justice to pay for the death of Kathleen Lindstrom.
“How you doing back there, sir? Could you be any less comfortable?” Officer McMullen climbed in the front seat, slammed his door closed, and buckled in his shoulder harness. He reached back and slid aside the window between the front seat and backseat, making a foot-wide opening.
“It’s fine, thanks,” Jake called back, miserably.
“Let’s roll.” Officer McMullen started the ignition, reversed out of the lot, and headed for the exit. “It’s a shame about your car.”
“It sure is.” Jake pulled out his iPhone and checked the time. It was almost nine o’clock, so Pam would be up. He prayed Ryan would still be in his room asleep, so he didn’t know about Kathleen yet.
“My brother-in-law has an Audi. They’re fast, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Excuse me, I’ll just text my wife and tell her we’re on the way.” Jake composed a text to Pam. Had a minor fender bender. Cop giving me a
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