Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) by Kory M. Shrum Page B

alternative? Let her die unprepared?
    She snaps each of the components onto the board, one at a time. She’s figuring it out for herself, without my help. Good. It’s better this way.

Chapter 15
    Monday, March 24, 2003
    I ran dummy Rachel’s fingerprints through the system and it came back for a Heidi Tripe, arrested two years ago for a drunk and disorderly, and six months after that for possession for less than an eighth of marijuana. The second case was dropped.
    As she sat in the plastic chair opposite mine, I explained the identity theft charges I was laying against her. I had to talk a great deal about fines and jail time before she opened her mouth.
    “Henry Chaplain,” she finally told me and pressed her shaking hands to her eyes. When her palms came away dark with smeared makeup, she rubbed them together. “His name isn’t Jason, it’s Henry Chaplain. He has a place over near Beckett Park, on Page Street.”
    “Write the address down,” I told her. She hesitated, rolling the pen between her fingers.
    “He’s going to know it was me.”
    “How would he know?”
    “He knows shit. He knows everything.”
    “You’re saying this guy is telepathic?”
    Her eyes doubled in size. “Maybe. He has a way of getting into your head, you know?”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Now write down the address or I won’t be able to say you were fully cooperative.”
    She began to cry again but at least she picked up the pen and did what I said, which is good, because Charlie walked by the room and saw me with her. I was going to have to get the hell out of this office if I wanted to get any work done. I couldn’t do shit with Charlie hovering.
    “So let me just be clear. You were applying to jobs as Rachel because Chaplain told you to throw us off her trail. He said he didn’t want anyone looking for her. Did I get that right?”
    She sniffed and nodded.
    “Good. Let’s get you over to County,” I said.
    Mild reluctance became complete resistance. The girl screamed and refused. When I tried to pull her up from her seat, she scooted back, wrenched her arm away and threw the chair. The commotion drew others. Hunter Connolly and Tom Trainer helped me get her out of the room, cuffed, and into the back of the car.
    “You’ve killed me,” she said. She screamed so hard her face was red with the effort. “You’ve killed me.”
    Charlie appeared beside us outside on the curb. Before I could thank and dismiss Hunter and Tom, Charlie barked his own orders.
    “Trainer, get her down to County,” Charlie said.
    Heidi’s face was redder than a tomato as she screamed and kicked the seat in front of her. Trainer gave me a reluctant look but I nodded and handed him the keys. “I’ll call ahead and tell them you’re coming.”
    Hunter went back inside and Tom got behind the wheel of my car. As he put the Impala in reverse, Charlie turned to me and said, “Don’t you have something else to do?”
    I did. As soon as Trainer got back, I packed up my shit and went to the bar. The atmosphere and the company would be better if nothing else.
    When I walked into Blackberry Hill, Peaches, a heavy-set old guy who owns the place waved heartily, his great arm flopping like a beached fish. Peaches made me think of a biker Santa. His white hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck and matched his great white beard. On his left bicep was a picture of his dog, Roxanne, a Pit-Rottweiler mix.
    “B. You here to practice for the tourney?” he called out.
    “Not today,” I said. “It’s a work date.”
    Peaches frowned. “Where’s the darn fun in that?”
    I shrugged. “The house pint will have to be fun enough.”
    Peaches pulled a frosted mug out of the fridge and poured a Blackberry Hill draft with one tug of the silver tap. He used a ruler to slide the foam off before refilling it.
    A boy band came on the jukebox and I snorted foam out my nose. Peaches was an AC/DC, Alice Cooper, and Bon Jovi man