Read Online Third Rail by Rory Flynn - Free Book Online

captain’s Scottish accent comes out, his cheeks redden, and he loses some of his cool. “The historical commission’s got its collective tit in a wringer. I’ve been fielding calls all day.”
    Harkness nods. Small-town politics, he can deal with today.
    â€œSome people want to tear the rest of the monument down because it glorifies war. The rest want to rebuild it immediately because it ‘honors the sacrifice of our nation’s heroes
.
’ Do you know how much it’s going to cost to fix?”
    Harkness shrugs.
    â€œ
Almost a million dollars.” The captain shakes his head. He’s a Scot by birth and a Yankee for twenty years, giving him a double dose of thrift.
    â€œOuch.”
    â€œNo one knows how to do stonework like that anymore. Have to quarry new granite in New Hampshire and make it look old. And bring in a repair team from Italy. That drunk asshole, excuse my language, intoxicated citizen, triggered a colonial clusterfuck. What did you find out at the hospital?”
    â€œHammond was definitely drunk at the time of the accident, blowing .23.”
    â€œImpressive. Sounds like a pro.”
    â€œNow he’s a mess.”
    â€œDid he say anything about his motivation? Trying to kill himself?”
    â€œHe was out cold, sir. He’s dying. Won’t be long.”
    â€œShit.”
    â€œI’m heading back to the hospital. Want to see if his daughter shows up.”
    â€œExcellent. Get her to sign this.” He hands Harkness a piece of paper.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œOfficial acceptance of responsibility for the damage. He can sign if he ever wakes up. Or his daughter can, if she’s authorized.”
    Harkness folds the piece of paper and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
    â€œAnd Harkness?”
    He pauses at the door. “Yes, sir?”
    â€œYou were right to hold your fire. With the deer, I mean.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    â€œThis is a quiet town. We don’t need patrolmen blasting away on our streets.”
    Harkness keeps the truth to himself.
Couldn’t blast away even if I wanted to.

9
    B ACK IN HIGH SCHOOL , you turned me on to all the coolest old bands—Mission of Burma, SS Decontrol, Flipper, Misfits, Avengers. You were like a punk historian.
Straight Ed
. Coolest straight guy at Nagog High.” Candace Hammond reaches over to peer down at her baby, nestled in the car seat next to her. “Used to see you running all those wild all-ages shows. Now you’re a cop. Amazing.”
    â€œNot really,” Harkness says.
    â€œI guess being a cop is kind of hardcore, when you think about it.” Her silver bracelets jangle and her baby makes a snuffling sound. “I can’t believe you’re still around here,” she says. “Thought you’d go to New York for sure.”
    Harkness shrugs. Everyone always expects something else.
    â€œAnyway, I’m glad to see you again.” She looks around the hospital cafeteria, quiet in a midafternoon lull. “Even if it’s when my dad’s about to check out.” Candace blinks her coffee-colored eyes. “No. Not going to cry. He’s not dead.” She shakes her head, as if it might wake her from this bad dream set in a hospital basement smelling of French fries and hand sanitizer.
    Tendrils of black hair streaked platinum frame Candace’s delicate, pale face. She’s as street tough as a Nagog girl can be—bright red lipstick, dark mascara, and a tiny silver nose ring. But her frightened eyes, gleaming and red rimmed, tell another story.
    â€œThis really isn’t the right time,” he says. “But I have to ask you a few questions.”
    She gives him a hard stare. “I can’t talk about Dad.”
    â€œLook, I know this is hard.”
    â€œYou have no idea.”
    Harkness says nothing, the oldest tactic in the world. It takes about ten seconds to work.
    â€œHere’s