Nowhere to Hide by Terry Odell Page A

Schaeffer’s office. He’d spent a restless night, alternating between thinking about a troubled redhead and trying to decide why Clarke—if it was Clarke—had shown up at Doris Walters’. He found Schaeffer at his desk.
    “ Morning,” Graham said.
    Schaeffer grunted. “You have anything?”
    Somewhere around two a.m., Graham had decided to keep his mouth shut about Clarke. Maybe Schaeffer was setting him up, seeing how he dealt with things on his own, or if he’d come crying to Daddy when things didn’t go his way. It had made sense then. Now he kept watching Schaeffer, trying to read him. If the case had gone to CID, Schaeffer would have told him. Wouldn’t he?
    Graham stifled another yawn. “Nothing positive at the hospitals or morgue. The aunt swears she said the guy’s in Alabama, not Alaska. But there was a fire at the Walters’ house last night. According to the reports, it was an accident. The woman had some friends playing cards that afternoon, someone dumped an ashtray in the wastebasket, and eventually it caught fire.”
    “ Any reason to think otherwise?”
    Graham shook his head. “I’d say the woman is running at about eighty-five percent. The tenant agrees. Says she’s lucid most of the time, but makes occasional detours into la-la land.”
    “ You still think this is a case? Or are you looking for excuses to see that tenant?” Schaeffer’s grin said he was teasing, but Graham still bristled.
    “ I do think it’s a case. I can’t explain it, but something’s not right. If the man was in touch with the old lady—and she insists he was—I don’t see why he wouldn’t have called his kid. Pain in the neck or not, it doesn’t feel right that he wouldn’t try to make personal contact.”
    “ Not if she’s always asking for money.” Schaeffer leaned back in his chair and chewed on his pen. “By the way. We’ve had a couple of personnel changes. If you’re interested, I can start you in the cross training program now. Ninety days. Unless you’d rather wait until January.” Schaeffer lifted his eyebrows.
    Graham tried to keep his heart inside his ribcage. He struggled to remain professional. Had Schaeffer made the same offer to Clarke? “I’d be grateful for the chance. Thank you, sir.”
    Schaeffer gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s see if you’re still thanking me after you spend days doing boring legwork with me breathing down your neck and checking all your paperwork. You might want to stick with Patrol duties. Grab your laptop. For now you’ll have to work at one of the communal desks. I’ll see about finding an empty cubicle.”
    In the workroom, two detectives were engrossed in their own laptop screens. Graham offered a good morning, got a nod from one, a raised eyebrow from the other, but neither objected to his presence as he plugged in his laptop.
    He’d do this one right, by the book. Ninety days to prove himself. He might have made some mistakes in his career, but nobody was perfect. He’d do a good job and he’d get the transfer. So what if Schaeffer thought this was a non-case and was throwing him a bone? At least he was willing to give him a chance. So what if it meant competing with Clarke? So what if Clarke smelled like a rose and Graham carried the stink of Proctor, his lousy training partner? Clarke was more like Proctor than Proctor had been, and eventually someone would notice. For now this was Graham’s chance to show what he could do.
    Maybe he could ask Colleen to pump Doris. Involve a civilian? By the book? Hell. He’d barely started his investigation and he was already outside the goddamn library.
    He had to agree with Doris that Kimberly Simon was a pain in the neck, but so far, Kimberly seemed to be alone in thinking there was something wrong. And what was her relationship with Jeffrey? If they were as close as she claimed, why hadn’t Jeffrey been in touch? Or maybe it was like Doris had said, and all she wanted was money and Jeffrey was ducking