Read Online Play Dead by David Rosenfelt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Rosenfelt
Tags: #genre
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least a hundred yards away and are in the process of closing all but the left lane of the highway to traffic. This is going to be a long night for drivers heading north to the city.
Sam and I approach one of the officers in charge of keeping people away. “That’s as far as you can go,” he says. “Nothing to see here.”
“We’re the ones who made the call to 911,” I say. “They shot out a window in our car.”
“Who did?” the officer asks. He probably is not even aware that there was a prior incident on the road; to him this must just be a crash scene.
“The two guys in that car,” I say. “They shot at us, we called it in, and they must have crashed in the pursuit.”
The officer considers this a moment. “Stay right here,” he says, and then goes toward the crash scene to check with his superiors. A few moments later he comes back and says, “Follow me.”
We do so, and as we get close to the crash, it looks as if the car containing the shooters smashed into a car parked along the side of the highway. It then flipped over, perhaps more than once, and came to rest as a complete wreck.
There is no doubt in my mind that no one in that car could have survived. The police have already set up a trailer, where they will spend the night as they investigate what they will consider a crime scene.
The officer takes us toward the trailer, and just before we get there, I whisper to Sam, “Do not say anything about the Evans case.”
He nods. “Gotcha.” Then, “This is so cool.”
“Sam, you might want to get some professional mental help. On an urgent basis.”
“You mean see a shrink?”
“No, I mean as an inpatient. A locked-in patient.”
We are led inside the trailer, and I can’t stifle a groan when I see that the officer in charge is Captain Dessens of the New Jersey State Police. I have had a couple of run-ins with Dessens on previous cases, and it would be accurate to say that we can’t stand each other.
Dessens looks up, sees me, and returns the groan. “What the hell are you doing here?” He looks around. “Who let this clown in?”
The officer who brought us in says, “These guys are the ones I told you about.”
Dessens shakes his head. “Well, so much for motive.”
The officer standing next to him says, “What do you mean?”
“That’s Andy Carpenter, the lawyer. I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t want to take a shot at him.”
“Is the shooter dead?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll still find a way to screw up the arrest.”
Dessens starts an angry response and then seems to think better of it. He motions for us to sit down, then questions us on the details of what happened. Sam lets me do most of the talking; he just seems happy and content to be a part of it.
After we’ve given our statements, Dessens asks if I think the shooting was random or if I might have an idea who could be after me.
“Everybody loves me,” I say.
Sam nods. “Me, too.”
Dessens asks a few more questions and then tells us that they will want to check out my car and that an officer will drive us home.
“Did you ID the dead guys?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer and instead calls out to one of the other officers, asking him to take us outside. He’s apparently not into sharing.
It’s not until I get home and have a glass of wine that I really think about what just happened. Word got out today that I was taking Richard Evans’s case, and somebody tried to kill me tonight.
I don’t believe in coincidences, and it wouldn’t be productive to start now. I have to believe that the shooting is connected to Evans, even though I would much rather not. If somebody could react this quickly and this violently to my simply taking on Evans as a client, then he’s got some very determined and deadly enemies.
Which means I now have them as well.
Laurie calls just as I’m about to get into bed, and I tell her the entire story. She believes in coincidences even less than I do, and I
Sam and I approach one of the officers in charge of keeping people away. “That’s as far as you can go,” he says. “Nothing to see here.”
“We’re the ones who made the call to 911,” I say. “They shot out a window in our car.”
“Who did?” the officer asks. He probably is not even aware that there was a prior incident on the road; to him this must just be a crash scene.
“The two guys in that car,” I say. “They shot at us, we called it in, and they must have crashed in the pursuit.”
The officer considers this a moment. “Stay right here,” he says, and then goes toward the crash scene to check with his superiors. A few moments later he comes back and says, “Follow me.”
We do so, and as we get close to the crash, it looks as if the car containing the shooters smashed into a car parked along the side of the highway. It then flipped over, perhaps more than once, and came to rest as a complete wreck.
There is no doubt in my mind that no one in that car could have survived. The police have already set up a trailer, where they will spend the night as they investigate what they will consider a crime scene.
The officer takes us toward the trailer, and just before we get there, I whisper to Sam, “Do not say anything about the Evans case.”
He nods. “Gotcha.” Then, “This is so cool.”
“Sam, you might want to get some professional mental help. On an urgent basis.”
“You mean see a shrink?”
“No, I mean as an inpatient. A locked-in patient.”
We are led inside the trailer, and I can’t stifle a groan when I see that the officer in charge is Captain Dessens of the New Jersey State Police. I have had a couple of run-ins with Dessens on previous cases, and it would be accurate to say that we can’t stand each other.
Dessens looks up, sees me, and returns the groan. “What the hell are you doing here?” He looks around. “Who let this clown in?”
The officer who brought us in says, “These guys are the ones I told you about.”
Dessens shakes his head. “Well, so much for motive.”
The officer standing next to him says, “What do you mean?”
“That’s Andy Carpenter, the lawyer. I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t want to take a shot at him.”
“Is the shooter dead?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll still find a way to screw up the arrest.”
Dessens starts an angry response and then seems to think better of it. He motions for us to sit down, then questions us on the details of what happened. Sam lets me do most of the talking; he just seems happy and content to be a part of it.
After we’ve given our statements, Dessens asks if I think the shooting was random or if I might have an idea who could be after me.
“Everybody loves me,” I say.
Sam nods. “Me, too.”
Dessens asks a few more questions and then tells us that they will want to check out my car and that an officer will drive us home.
“Did you ID the dead guys?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer and instead calls out to one of the other officers, asking him to take us outside. He’s apparently not into sharing.
It’s not until I get home and have a glass of wine that I really think about what just happened. Word got out today that I was taking Richard Evans’s case, and somebody tried to kill me tonight.
I don’t believe in coincidences, and it wouldn’t be productive to start now. I have to believe that the shooting is connected to Evans, even though I would much rather not. If somebody could react this quickly and this violently to my simply taking on Evans as a client, then he’s got some very determined and deadly enemies.
Which means I now have them as well.
Laurie calls just as I’m about to get into bed, and I tell her the entire story. She believes in coincidences even less than I do, and I
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