An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) by Stacy Verdick Case

picked up my mug and handed it to me. “No, I can’t. He said he wanted to see you first thing. He really didn’t sound that mad.”
    Right, and the sound of dentist’s drills are only mildly annoying.
    “It’s better to get it out of the way anyway,” she said. “We have a long day ahead of us.”
    There wasn’t enough coffee in Colombia to make the ass chewing I was about to receive any easier to take. I gulped down what remained in my mug in three long swallows, then swept my hand out in front of me.
    “Lead the way.”
     
     
    The chief’s door was wide open like the jaws of an angry monster. Inside, the chief paced the length of his phone cord from one side of his desk to the other.
    “He’s busy now,” I said. “We’ll have to come back later.”
    Before I could escape, the chief spotted me, and flagged me inside.
    Louise put her hands on my shoulders. “He’s never too busy to talk to you, Catherine. You should know that by now.”
    Chief waved again, this time more emphatically.
    I stepped forward and from somewhere I swore I heard TAPS playing. I looked over my shoulder and saw Shackelford tooting out the tune through his fingers.
    I gave him the finger.
    There were only two guest chairs in the chief’s office. Neither provided easy access to the door if I needed to escape, so I chose the one near the window. Who knew, a leap from the eighth floor might be more fun than what was heading my way with all the speed of a runaway freight train.
    I slumped down in the seat and tried to make myself as small as possible under the chief’s dark glare.
    I didn’t need to know who he was talking to on the phone. His only contribution to the conversation was, yes sir and I understand sir . Finally he said, “Yes sir. We’ll take care of it.”
    He lowered the phone so slowly it looked like a video on frame-by-frame motion. With each inch closer to the cradle the phone got, the more pain I felt. By the time he’d hung up the phone, I could have sworn I’d already received my ass chewing.
    He laced his fingers together then let out a slow breath.
    Hour-like seconds, ticked by without a sound. He didn’t look up. He didn’t move. The only sign that he was still alive was the rapid pulse at his temple.
    “Tomorrow.” He flattened his palms out on the desk. “Is my twenty-year anniversary with the Saint Paul Police Department.”
    “Congratulations,” Louise said in a bright and cheery tone.
    He turned his head, flattened his lips into a humorless smile, and gave her a short nod.
    “Instead of celebrating my anniversary with a glass of champagne, as I had planned to do,” each word measured and slow, “I’m going to be playing clean up with the press.”
    He turned to me and smiled. Not a happy, friendly smile; a disturbing, frightening smile.
    “Sorry.”
    He leaned forward and cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that? I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you, O’Brien.”
    “I am sorry, chief.”
    He waved off the apology.
    “I know you are. And I know that part of the story was sensationalized. Right?”
    Louise and I nodded, with our most innocent expressions, like disciplined children.
    “So you will do everything in your power to correct the problem.”
    He nodded.
    We nodded.
    “Good.” He held up a rumpled copy of the paper. “Tell me how this happened.”
    I hung my head and waited for Louise to explain my actions so I wouldn’t sound like a raving lunatic. When no explanation came, I glanced at Louise from the corner of my eye and realized she was looking at me and so was the chief.
    I straightened and took a deep breath. Then I took the plunge.
    “I lost my temper.” A good start and the truth. Not crazy yet. “The press was camped in front of the neighbor’s house trying to get at the Luther’s son.”
    So far so good. No real damage done.
    Chief nodded as patiently as a therapist listening to a patient spill their guts.
    “The press –”
    He held up his stubby