“But I don’t understand whya simple drug-dealing case that I was assigned to yesterday is suddenly too high above my clearance level now.”
Captain Randall’s face turned ugly. “It’s not your job to understand, Detective Chandler. Your job is to work on open cases, and right now, it sounds a lot like you’re pestering me about a case that’s already been closed. Does the Chicago PD usually pay you to work on closed cases??”
“No, but—”
“Then stop worrying about it.” The Captain slammed an open palm on his desk, and if I were a lesser detective, I would have flinched. His dark eyes glittered with barely restrained fury. “I feel like we’re having the same conversation we had yesterday, Detective, and that’s not a good sign. You told me that you’re an excellent detective, and I expect my detectives to understand the pecking order around here. This precinct doesn’t have the manpower or the resources for me to allow detectives to pick at and fuss over cases that have already been closed. If you can’t understand that, then you’d better hop onto a plane back to Chicago because I’m not interested in helping you if you’re going to waste my time. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said through gritted teeth, and I really did. It meant that Captain Randall didn’t want me poking around closed cases because he didn’t want me to expose whatever he was trying to cover up.
But if I couldn’t tackle him head on about this matter, I was just going to have to dig around behind his back until I exposed the truth.
The rest of the morning proved just as frustrating as my conversation with Captain Randall. He’d given me Tom’s file, but it was full of dead-ends. There were notes on witnesses who had been spoken to, all of whom had claimed to see nothing, and I spent the morning making phone calls.
Since Tom had died at a motel, all of the people who’d been interviewed were long gone, and I was stuck trying to squeeze information out of them by phone. By the time lunch rolled around, I’d gotten absolutely nowhere and was so antsy for progress that it was all I could do not to jump out of my chair and race for the exit.
“Hey,” Baxter said as I shrugged on my jacket. “You wanna go grab a bite? The Lobster Shanty serves some pretty great clam chowder.” He pronounced the word ‘chowdah’, in true New England fashion. Just like Tom would have done.
My stomach perked up at the idea, and I told it to pipe down. “Thanks, but maybe next time. I’m still settling in at my apartment, and I thought I’d use my lunch break to catch up on things.”
“All right.” Baxter shrugged, but there was a hint of disappointment in his voice that made me frown. I couldn’t imagine that the stalwart detective actually wanted to hang out with me—he was all business and no pleasure as far as I could see. Besides, I didn’t trust him enough to have anything beyond a professional relationship with him, and even that was pushing it. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Yep.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, then headed out to where I’d parked my jeep. I’d opted not to walk today, not because I was lazy, but because I planned on using my lunch break for some more investigative work.
I munched on the turkey sandwich I’d packed this morning as I drove to the Black Bear Inn. It had been a few weeks since Tom had reportedly burned to death there, but I was hoping I might still be able to find something of use amongst the ruins that could tell me more about how he’d died. And if not, maybe the staff could tell me something.
I pulled up in front of the inn, which didn’t sound nearly as impressive as it was. It was a single story building a few blocks from Derby Road that wrapped around the lot in a boxy U-shape, with parking spots in front of each room. A small building stood in the center of the lot, with a service window that likely served as the check-in counter.
I parked my car
Captain Randall’s face turned ugly. “It’s not your job to understand, Detective Chandler. Your job is to work on open cases, and right now, it sounds a lot like you’re pestering me about a case that’s already been closed. Does the Chicago PD usually pay you to work on closed cases??”
“No, but—”
“Then stop worrying about it.” The Captain slammed an open palm on his desk, and if I were a lesser detective, I would have flinched. His dark eyes glittered with barely restrained fury. “I feel like we’re having the same conversation we had yesterday, Detective, and that’s not a good sign. You told me that you’re an excellent detective, and I expect my detectives to understand the pecking order around here. This precinct doesn’t have the manpower or the resources for me to allow detectives to pick at and fuss over cases that have already been closed. If you can’t understand that, then you’d better hop onto a plane back to Chicago because I’m not interested in helping you if you’re going to waste my time. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said through gritted teeth, and I really did. It meant that Captain Randall didn’t want me poking around closed cases because he didn’t want me to expose whatever he was trying to cover up.
But if I couldn’t tackle him head on about this matter, I was just going to have to dig around behind his back until I exposed the truth.
The rest of the morning proved just as frustrating as my conversation with Captain Randall. He’d given me Tom’s file, but it was full of dead-ends. There were notes on witnesses who had been spoken to, all of whom had claimed to see nothing, and I spent the morning making phone calls.
Since Tom had died at a motel, all of the people who’d been interviewed were long gone, and I was stuck trying to squeeze information out of them by phone. By the time lunch rolled around, I’d gotten absolutely nowhere and was so antsy for progress that it was all I could do not to jump out of my chair and race for the exit.
“Hey,” Baxter said as I shrugged on my jacket. “You wanna go grab a bite? The Lobster Shanty serves some pretty great clam chowder.” He pronounced the word ‘chowdah’, in true New England fashion. Just like Tom would have done.
My stomach perked up at the idea, and I told it to pipe down. “Thanks, but maybe next time. I’m still settling in at my apartment, and I thought I’d use my lunch break to catch up on things.”
“All right.” Baxter shrugged, but there was a hint of disappointment in his voice that made me frown. I couldn’t imagine that the stalwart detective actually wanted to hang out with me—he was all business and no pleasure as far as I could see. Besides, I didn’t trust him enough to have anything beyond a professional relationship with him, and even that was pushing it. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Yep.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, then headed out to where I’d parked my jeep. I’d opted not to walk today, not because I was lazy, but because I planned on using my lunch break for some more investigative work.
I munched on the turkey sandwich I’d packed this morning as I drove to the Black Bear Inn. It had been a few weeks since Tom had reportedly burned to death there, but I was hoping I might still be able to find something of use amongst the ruins that could tell me more about how he’d died. And if not, maybe the staff could tell me something.
I pulled up in front of the inn, which didn’t sound nearly as impressive as it was. It was a single story building a few blocks from Derby Road that wrapped around the lot in a boxy U-shape, with parking spots in front of each room. A small building stood in the center of the lot, with a service window that likely served as the check-in counter.
I parked my car
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