Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) by Thomas K. Matthews

the loop.”
    Andrade hung up and glared at Collins.
    “Find this asshole, and I mean today. I don’t need to remind you that if this turns into a serial case then we’ll have the FBI involved. That could be unfortunate for both of us.”
    A look passed between the two men that spoke of secrets long buried and best kept that way.
    Collins shrugged. “What are you worried about? It’s been years and we’ve never had any problems.”
    Andrade was shaking his head before Collins even finished speaking. “And we have to keep it that way, which means we don’t need extra people poking around.”
    “Hell Cap, no one but Drake could put two and two together anyway, and he’s sure as shit not gonna be investigating anything.”
    Andrade went completely still and just stared at Collins.
    “What?” Collins said.
    “I can’t believe I did that.”
    “Did what?”
    “Put Drake in with the one person who has access to every case file in the station.”
    Collins looked confused. “Who?”
    “Serena, woman who works in the cage.”
    Collins grinned and shook his head. “Damn, you surely took your paranoid pill this morning. Drake is hidden away good and proper, and in a few months he’ll be gone.”
    “Not good enough,” Andrade said with a stubborn look on his face. “I want you to make sure that bitch isn’t sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
    “How do I—”
    “Just do it, okay?”
    Collins held his hands up, palms facing the Captain. “All right,” he said. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll lean on the Coroner and tell them we need answers yesterday. Meantime, I’ll brief the squad on the murders. Hopefully we’ll find out two different psychos were behind them.”
    The Captain gave him a skeptical look. “Whatever, just get on it.”
    Collins nodded and left the office.
    Andrade leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Christ,” he said to the empty room. He found himself wishing he could turn these two murders over to his best investigator, like he always used to when he wanted a fast result. Unfortunately that person was sitting in the cage, wasting away the last few months of his career. The Captain barked out an ironic laugh.

C HAPTER N INE

    DRAKE SAT AT his kitchen table trying to work up the courage to open the box sitting in front of him. His portable heater droned away near his feet. Despite their size, both he and Robin felt the cold keenly and had a difficult time keeping warm. When they slept together they were like Eskimos beneath piles of bearskins.
    This was the first sunshine the box had seen for ten years. It had long resided in the bottom of a drawer, sulking in the dark, the contents yellowing with age. On late nights when sleep eluded him, Drake often thought of the box and felt bad, like he had abandoned it. He wondered if this was a bit like women felt after giving up a baby for adoption.
    He took a deep breath and opened the top. Inside was a thick stack of rejection letters held together with a black metal clip at one corner. He riffled through them, remembering the many times he had plucked the self-addressed stamped envelops from his mailbox only to see the all-too-familiar messages. “Our agency is not accepting new authors at this time,” the letters would say, or more succinctly, “This book is not for me.”
    Drake set aside the letters and lifted out the bulky manuscript. The title was centered on the front page: MORTAL WHISPERS. He turned to page one and began to read. By the end of the second chapter he was already forming ideas about how he would revise the manuscript if he were to re-write it today.
    “Okay,” he whispered. “I can do this.”
    From the top shelf of his closet Drake pulled down his electric typewriter and plugged it in. The beast hummed quietly, beckoning to him. He reached out and hit a single key. The Daisy wheel leapt from its long slumber and clacked against the empty barrel.
    He rolled a fresh sheet of bond