his eyes completely. The crisp pressed shirt of this morning had wilted only slightly, but he had loosened the tie around his neck in acknowledgement of the heat.
“I was just about to call you,” I said as he approached. “Is it okay to open up the tennis shed yet? The team is going to start practice again tomorrow and all the equipment is in there.”
He glanced over, mirrored lenses reflecting the yellow tape, before returning to reflect me. It was disconcerting to see a double image of myself, and I had to suppress an urge to adjust my hair.
“Yeah, we’re finished in there. I left the tape on so I could be here when you went in. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“This and that,” he answered evasively, and I gave him a sharp look.
I lifted a hand to the door, then hesitated at the tape, but he reached around me and tore it down, then peeled the sticker off the doorjamb without ceremony.
“We would have left someone to guard the door if we hadn’t been finished in here,” he explained, stepping aside to let me open the lock. He watched as I punched in the code.
“That’s the first question,” he went on. “How many people know the combination to this door?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway. Probably a lot of people know it. Every kid on the tennis team for sure, and it hasn’t been changed in at least a couple of years.” Actually, it hadn’t been changed since it had been installed, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You know it,” he pointed out. “And you said you weren’t involved with the team this morning.” His voice was light, as though he was just making an observation, but I could feel his eyes watching me.
“Well, yeah. A lot has changed since this morning. Then, I wasn’t involved. Now I’m the new coach,” I said. “But I already knew the combination, because a couple of years ago, Fred was away at a tournament and called to ask if I’d go into the shed and get him a phone number from the roster.”
“You remember a combination you’d heard only once two years ago? Pretty impressive.”
I didn’t care for his tone, which was a combination of fake respect and complete disbelief. I kept my own voice level.
Pointing to the giant electric Bonham High School sign at the foot of the driveway, I said, “What do you see?”
“Bonham Students are Winners?” he said, reading the scrolling message of the day.
“Below that. Look at the address. 7203 Live Oak. That’s the combination. 7-2-0-3.”
He looked from me to the sign, then back again. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why didn’t he just leave the door wide open?”
“He said the lock was there to stop temptation, not theft,” I said with a shrug, remembering. “He had a boundless faith in the goodness of people, especially kids.”
Detective Gallagher snorted a little and shook his head.
I glared at him. “He was a good guy, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew people, but he was an optimist. And the shed was never burgled.”
“He was damn lucky, and you know it. I bet you told him to change the combination.”
I’d not only told him to change it at least every two weeks but to install a secondary keyed lock so that he could control when other people could open the shed. However, I wasn’t going to give Detective Gallagher the satisfaction.
He went on. “So basically, anyone could have known or guessed the combination.”
“Basically,” I agreed.
I pushed the door open, and we looked in. Most surfaces now had a fine dusting of black powder on them.
“You dusted for fingerprints?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s standard procedure for unexpected deaths,” he said. “In fact, we go to every death that occurs outside a hospital.”
“We?”
“Homicide,” he answered.
“You’re a homicide detective?” I had missed that part somehow.
He nodded but added reassuringly, “Don’t read anything into it. We go to every unattended death. Murders,
“I was just about to call you,” I said as he approached. “Is it okay to open up the tennis shed yet? The team is going to start practice again tomorrow and all the equipment is in there.”
He glanced over, mirrored lenses reflecting the yellow tape, before returning to reflect me. It was disconcerting to see a double image of myself, and I had to suppress an urge to adjust my hair.
“Yeah, we’re finished in there. I left the tape on so I could be here when you went in. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“This and that,” he answered evasively, and I gave him a sharp look.
I lifted a hand to the door, then hesitated at the tape, but he reached around me and tore it down, then peeled the sticker off the doorjamb without ceremony.
“We would have left someone to guard the door if we hadn’t been finished in here,” he explained, stepping aside to let me open the lock. He watched as I punched in the code.
“That’s the first question,” he went on. “How many people know the combination to this door?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway. Probably a lot of people know it. Every kid on the tennis team for sure, and it hasn’t been changed in at least a couple of years.” Actually, it hadn’t been changed since it had been installed, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You know it,” he pointed out. “And you said you weren’t involved with the team this morning.” His voice was light, as though he was just making an observation, but I could feel his eyes watching me.
“Well, yeah. A lot has changed since this morning. Then, I wasn’t involved. Now I’m the new coach,” I said. “But I already knew the combination, because a couple of years ago, Fred was away at a tournament and called to ask if I’d go into the shed and get him a phone number from the roster.”
“You remember a combination you’d heard only once two years ago? Pretty impressive.”
I didn’t care for his tone, which was a combination of fake respect and complete disbelief. I kept my own voice level.
Pointing to the giant electric Bonham High School sign at the foot of the driveway, I said, “What do you see?”
“Bonham Students are Winners?” he said, reading the scrolling message of the day.
“Below that. Look at the address. 7203 Live Oak. That’s the combination. 7-2-0-3.”
He looked from me to the sign, then back again. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why didn’t he just leave the door wide open?”
“He said the lock was there to stop temptation, not theft,” I said with a shrug, remembering. “He had a boundless faith in the goodness of people, especially kids.”
Detective Gallagher snorted a little and shook his head.
I glared at him. “He was a good guy, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew people, but he was an optimist. And the shed was never burgled.”
“He was damn lucky, and you know it. I bet you told him to change the combination.”
I’d not only told him to change it at least every two weeks but to install a secondary keyed lock so that he could control when other people could open the shed. However, I wasn’t going to give Detective Gallagher the satisfaction.
He went on. “So basically, anyone could have known or guessed the combination.”
“Basically,” I agreed.
I pushed the door open, and we looked in. Most surfaces now had a fine dusting of black powder on them.
“You dusted for fingerprints?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s standard procedure for unexpected deaths,” he said. “In fact, we go to every death that occurs outside a hospital.”
“We?”
“Homicide,” he answered.
“You’re a homicide detective?” I had missed that part somehow.
He nodded but added reassuringly, “Don’t read anything into it. We go to every unattended death. Murders,
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