Outsourced by Dave Zeltserman Page A

beat unconscious and the store ransacked. His partner, Walt Maguire, was oblivious, his feet up on his desk as he talked over the phone with his girlfriend. Resnick tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a signal that they had to go. Maguire nodded, made several attempts to end the conversation gracefully, then muttered, “I’ll call you later,” as he hung up the receiver.
    “What’s the story?” he asked.
    “Owner of that Russian grocery store on State Street got beat up.”
    “Any witnesses?”
    “Don’t know yet.”
    Resnick drove. He was a sixteen-year veteran of the Lynn police force and a detective for seven. His partner, Maguire, was just a kid of twenty-eight and had only made detective a month earlier. As far as Resnick was concerned, Maguire still had baby fat. With the siren on they got to the grocery store in seven minutes. Three police cruisers and an ambulance were already there. About a dozen people crowded the sidewalk trying to get a look inside the store. As Resnick pulled up behind one of the cruisers, he could see the store’s front window had been smashed and a cash register lay among the broken glass on the sidewalk.
    Maguire left the car and walked over to the cash register. He put gloves on, let out a few breaths and then lifted the register to his waist before lowering it back to the sidewalk.
    “This mother’s heavy,” he told Resnick. “Must be some antique lined with lead or something. Got to be at least eighty pounds.” There were four patrolmen standing outside the store looking bored. Maguire turned to the closest one. “You want to help me bring this back inside?”
    The cop made a face. “If I want to go on disability, maybe. Thanks, but I’ll throw my back out moving my own furniture.”
    Resnick walked over to the same cop. “What can you tell me?” he asked.
    “The owner was knocked unconscious. Paramedics are inside with him now. It looks like he’ll be okay. Whoever did this smashed up the place pretty good.”
    “Any witnesses?”
    The cop shook his head. “The wife was there. She claims he tripped and hit his head.”
    “Okay, stay where you are and keep the public out.” Resnick turned to the other patrolmen. “Why don’t you guys check the crowd, then the stores nearby. See if anyone’s willing to talk to us.”
    Resnick sighed. At five foot ten and one hundred and seventy-five pounds, he was three inches shorter and forty pounds lighter than his partner. He hoisted the cash register on to his shoulder and headed towards the entrance.
    “What are you doing?” Maguire asked as he rushed to open the door for him. “I would’ve helped. And you’re compromising any possible fingerprints.”
    “There weren’t going to be any fingerprints.”
    Resnick carried the register to the counter and placed it where a dust outline showed it had originally been. Off to the side an elderly man lay on the floor while two paramedics worked on him. The man’s wife stood nearby crying. Resnick took a quick look around. A freezer in the back had been smashed up, probably with a tire iron. Top shelves were pulled out, bottom ones kicked in. The place was a mess.
    Resnick moved closer to the store owner and could see that his forehead was wrapped heavily in gauze and that blood had trickled down from his ear. He asked the paramedics how the man was doing. One of them looked up at him briefly before turning back to the store owner. “Signs are beginning to stabilize,” he said. “He’s pretty much out of it. Took a nasty blow to the head.”
    “But he’ll be okay?”
    “It looks that way.”
    Maguire had pulled the wife aside and was asking her what happened.
    “My husband fell down,” she said, still crying.
    “You’re saying he hit his head when he fell.”
    “Yes. He fell. Over there.” She pointed towards the doorway.
    “Then why’s there blood on the edge of the counter?” Resnick moved in front of Maguire, blocking him from the wife. “I am very