Nothing to Hide (A Roland March Mystery Book #3) by J. Mark Bertrand Page B

a detective, March. Go find out.”
    The file feels heavy in my hand. Bending the rules doesn’t bother me, and in a good cause I don’t mind a little trouble, but I can’t think when I’ve ever been in a situation like this. It doesn’t feel right.
    “What do I tell Lorenz?” I ask. “What do I tell the captain?”
    He sighs. “Listen here. I wasn’t gonnasay nothing, but since keeping secrets is the order of the day. The captain’s turning in his papers.”
    “ What ?”
    “You remember last year, during the runoff elections? He got sucked into the politics and started making alliances. Well, Drew Hedges is a good man, but he’s no kind of politician. What he did is, he alienated a lot of people. Burned himself good. And the result is, his job is up for grabs. There’s a shakeup coming, and he’s out. That’s all there is to it.”
    “Hedges is out? But he’s a cop’s cop.”
    “Between you and me, he’s ready. He told me after Ordway’s retirement party that he felt like a dinosaur, and if he was never moving up, then what was keeping him from moving out?”
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    “That’s the job. It got to him.”
    “So what does this mean?” I can hardly keep up, hardly process it all. “Who’s moving into his office—you?”
    He gives a mirthless laugh. “That what you think? No, man, it’s not gonna be me. Maybe when Lee Brown was still mayor . . . but no. I don’t have no idea. All I can tell you is, you need to ready yourself. And don’t dump any of this on the captain now. He doesn’t need the headache.”
    The sun beats down on us the whole drive back. I can feel myself getting hotter and hotter. Maybe the air-conditioning’s giving out. Maybe the ozone up above is spread particularly thin. Or maybe I’m out of my depth for once, not sure what I’m about to get myself into. A man’s life is at stake, Bea said, and for me that’s new territory. Avenging the dead is my job. With this new mission I don’t know where to begin.
    And now the ground underneath me isn’t solid anymore. Hedges gave me a second chance when everybody else—Bascombe included—wanted to kick me to the curb. One thing I never imagined was that I’d outlast Drew Hedges in Homicide.

CHAPTER 5
    The file from Bea Kuykendahl’s office rests in my battered leather briefcase along with my old Filofax, a couple of digital audio recorders, a camera, some cuffs, a spare mag, and a mess of loose pens and paper clips and plug-in chargers. When I reach my desk, I transfer the file to a locked drawer for safekeeping, then hang my sport coat—an unlined, lightweight hand-me-down from my wife’s father—on the back of my ergonomic chair.
    Lorenz pops over the cubicle wall, a satisfied grin on his face.
    “What?” I ask.
    “Take a guess.”
    “Come on, Jerry.”
    He produces a stack of paper from behind his back. “While you’ve been off doing whatever it is you do, I’ve got a name for JD. The match came back a half hour ago, and I’ve been doing some research. Guy’s name is Brandon Ford. Age thirty-four, six-foot-one, and there’s a Houston address. And guess what he does for a living. No? He’s a gun dealer.”
    I take the printouts from his hand, flipping through the pages. Agent Kuykendahl is sure making this easy. But what kind of strings do you have to pull to seed the criminal database with false information? I wouldn’t have credited her with having this kind of pull. And if she does, what was the point of bringing me into the picture? Handing the stack of pages back, I sink into my chair.
    “Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “We need to get moving on this. I found a number for the victim’s ex-wife, so we can start with the death notification.”
    “Right.”
    But there won’t be an ex-wife, of course. Brandon Ford only exists on paper. That’s why Bea Kuykendahl needed to clue me in. She realized that with a little digging, we’d discover soon enough that we were