She authorized lights and siren, anything to get the phones back to headquarters as fast as possible. As Devlin was rushing out of the conference room, the Chief turned to Huff and said, “If this turns out to be something important, I’m gonna...Never mind!”
All eyes turned to Dr. Kruger. He was busy placing the carousel of photos back in its sleeve. He looked up to see all eyes in the room staring at him.
“What are you going to tell the folks in Hartford?” asked the Chief.
“Nothing for the time being.”
“How long can you keep this quiet?”
“Now you know why I opened a temporary office here in West Warwick and why I performed autopsies in the local hospital. My lips are sealed until I must return to Hartford. Of course, the CSI team has the evidence, but they know enough to keep quiet. But I can’t speak for all the hospital employees. They are bound by ethics and law not to reveal anything they witness in a hospital.” He stood up as if to leave. “But people do blab.” He walked to the door and turned, “It’s human nature.”
Chief Wilson called to him. “Sit down Doctor, we all need to listen to that audiotape.” She speculated that it would take no more than an hour for Devlin to return.
Meanwhile, Abby returned to her office and dialed D. A. Greg Rocklein’s private number. He picked up on the second ring. “Greg, we have a horrible situation.”
Chapter 4
Waiting for Sgt. Devlin’ arrival provoked a case of the fidgets. Everyone tried to look busy, to engage in meaningful conversation but none could do so. They went upstairs for coffee; they walked out to the sidewalk to voice their opinion about the crime, they tapped their fingers nervously on the conference table. Kruger remained detached. He busied himself by meticulously wrapping each photograph in tissue paper and placing it into a plastic envelope. He removed each slide gently from the carousel and placed it in a plastic sleeve. Chief Wilson was exasperated by the delay. Apparently Devlin retrieved the audiotapes but they were not a standard size. He called in to say the phone was broken, the cord was severed, and the tapes wouldn’t play in it so he was out searching for a cassette player. If that were not possible he would go to the company that manufactured the instrument. The chief called a recess and ordered police personnel to reassemble at one o’clock, after a lunch break.
Huff could think of nothing else but his late morning platter of cholesterol-laden goodies. He was happy with the postponement, as it offered him the opportunity to see a friendly face. It was approaching noon, plenty of time to squeeze in a trip to his favorite diner. He pulled up in front of O’Neill’s, which was a low set converted caboose. The exterior was aluminum-sided with a painted horizontal red stripe. The interior was divided into two sections by a center aisle. The right side was a long marble topped counter fronted by stools and the left side was a series of booths. A jukebox was available at each booth. Huff waddled in and took possession of his favorite stool. Sharon promptly greeted him. Her hair dyed flaming red was wrapped in a hairnet. She wore a pink uniform buttoned down the middle with a starched white collar. A beige apron stained with mustard, ketchup and indistinguishable matter was tied around her waist. A lacey folded handkerchief drooped from the left side of her blouse near the shoulder just below the collar. She was a woman in her mid fifties who appeared to have lived a hard life. Her face was furrowed, her hands were gnarled and her fingernails painted red. She never looked anything but fatigued.
“You’re late,” she said with a raspy voice, as though she was a schoolteacher admonishing her pupil.
“Yeah, I know. Big doings at headquarters.”
She brought him an empty cup and a cinnamon muffin. She left for a moment and returned with a pot of coffee and began to pour.
“Working on the murders?”
Huff
All eyes turned to Dr. Kruger. He was busy placing the carousel of photos back in its sleeve. He looked up to see all eyes in the room staring at him.
“What are you going to tell the folks in Hartford?” asked the Chief.
“Nothing for the time being.”
“How long can you keep this quiet?”
“Now you know why I opened a temporary office here in West Warwick and why I performed autopsies in the local hospital. My lips are sealed until I must return to Hartford. Of course, the CSI team has the evidence, but they know enough to keep quiet. But I can’t speak for all the hospital employees. They are bound by ethics and law not to reveal anything they witness in a hospital.” He stood up as if to leave. “But people do blab.” He walked to the door and turned, “It’s human nature.”
Chief Wilson called to him. “Sit down Doctor, we all need to listen to that audiotape.” She speculated that it would take no more than an hour for Devlin to return.
Meanwhile, Abby returned to her office and dialed D. A. Greg Rocklein’s private number. He picked up on the second ring. “Greg, we have a horrible situation.”
Chapter 4
Waiting for Sgt. Devlin’ arrival provoked a case of the fidgets. Everyone tried to look busy, to engage in meaningful conversation but none could do so. They went upstairs for coffee; they walked out to the sidewalk to voice their opinion about the crime, they tapped their fingers nervously on the conference table. Kruger remained detached. He busied himself by meticulously wrapping each photograph in tissue paper and placing it into a plastic envelope. He removed each slide gently from the carousel and placed it in a plastic sleeve. Chief Wilson was exasperated by the delay. Apparently Devlin retrieved the audiotapes but they were not a standard size. He called in to say the phone was broken, the cord was severed, and the tapes wouldn’t play in it so he was out searching for a cassette player. If that were not possible he would go to the company that manufactured the instrument. The chief called a recess and ordered police personnel to reassemble at one o’clock, after a lunch break.
Huff could think of nothing else but his late morning platter of cholesterol-laden goodies. He was happy with the postponement, as it offered him the opportunity to see a friendly face. It was approaching noon, plenty of time to squeeze in a trip to his favorite diner. He pulled up in front of O’Neill’s, which was a low set converted caboose. The exterior was aluminum-sided with a painted horizontal red stripe. The interior was divided into two sections by a center aisle. The right side was a long marble topped counter fronted by stools and the left side was a series of booths. A jukebox was available at each booth. Huff waddled in and took possession of his favorite stool. Sharon promptly greeted him. Her hair dyed flaming red was wrapped in a hairnet. She wore a pink uniform buttoned down the middle with a starched white collar. A beige apron stained with mustard, ketchup and indistinguishable matter was tied around her waist. A lacey folded handkerchief drooped from the left side of her blouse near the shoulder just below the collar. She was a woman in her mid fifties who appeared to have lived a hard life. Her face was furrowed, her hands were gnarled and her fingernails painted red. She never looked anything but fatigued.
“You’re late,” she said with a raspy voice, as though she was a schoolteacher admonishing her pupil.
“Yeah, I know. Big doings at headquarters.”
She brought him an empty cup and a cinnamon muffin. She left for a moment and returned with a pot of coffee and began to pour.
“Working on the murders?”
Huff
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