The Demise by Diane Moody Page A

they weren’t coming into the break room, Julie edged closer to the door to hear what she could.
    “Yeah? Well, I didn’t plan to be here. But I couldn’t get in touch with my new partner who wasn’t answering his cell phone. Why do you suppose he would do that?”
    After a pause, Matt answered. “Oh. Sorry, I guess I left it in my car.”
    “Kid, didn’t they teach you anything at that Acme Detective School you went to? Don't let it happen again. Got it?”
    “Yeah. Got it.”
    “Couple of things have come up,” Berkowitz said, lowering his voice even more. Julie inched closer but stayed out of sight. “Coroner says Lanham died of a broken neck. Looks like he hit headfirst on that pavement. Cracked his skull on impact and popped that expensive neck of his.”
    “So you think it was a suicide?”
    “Did I say that? No. We know what caused his death, but at this point that’s all we know. What about you? Learn anything yesterday? Find a note? Anyone letting their guard down today?”
    “No note. I came in early to work over Lanham’s computer.”
    “I thought we sent that to the IT guys. What’s it still doing here?”
    “I decided to take a look at it first.”
    “Yeah? And why’s that?”
    “Call it intuition.”
    “I can think of all kinds of things to call it—”
    “Look, just give me the rest of the day. If I get in over my head, I’ll personally deliver it to the Nashville office.”
    “Then you better hope you find something.”
    “I’ve found some interesting files, a few things I want to look into. From everything I heard yesterday, nobody around here seems to think he would have jumped. He was the captain of the ship around here. A classic Type A choleric personality. Guys like that don’t usually jump.”
    “A cleric? From what I heard, he’s hardly the priest type. The man obviously liked his women.”
    Julie stifled a snicker at the faux pas.
    “Not cleric—choleric. It’s a personality type. It means he kept the upper hand in everything. Nothing got by him.”
    “Fine. Whatever. Look, I’ve got no time for this right now. We’ve had a break in a cold case I handled a couple of years ago. Fugitive located in Memphis. I’m on my way there now. Which means you’re gonna have to take over this investigation for the time being. It’s probably nothing but a suicide anyway. Even the Rockefeller types have a breaking point, know what I mean? Just try to wrap it up for me nice and neat with a bow on top. Got it?”
    “Sure. I’ll handle it.”
    “Just make sure you keep that cell phone on you at all times,” Berkowitz continued. “I don’t care if you’re in the can, you keep it on you. Oh, and one last thing. Whatever you do, keep your distance from the locals. Use ’em if you have to, learn what you can, but don’t go Mayberry on me. Small-town folks are weird. You can’t trust ‘em.”
    “Whatever.”
    “Consider yourself warned. I’m outta here.”
    Julie darted back to the sink before Matt returned to the break room. She turned on the faucet full force.
    “Oh—hi,” he said, startled. “I didn’t know you were still in here.”
    “What’s that?” she said over her shoulder. “Oh. Matt . . . sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. What did you say?”
    “Never mind. It wasn’t important.”
    She motioned toward the stains. “Not much improvement, I see.”
    “None at all. I’ve got clothes in my car, so I’ll go find something else to put on.”
    Julie smiled. “Do you always keep extra clothes with you?”
    “Not usually. But I decided to find a room here in Braxton instead of making the drive back and forth from Nashville every day. I haven’t had time to find an apartment yet, and the motel I’ve been staying in isn’t great. It just made sense to stay here instead. For now, anyway.”
    “Good idea. Think of all the time and gasoline you’ll save.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Listen, Matt, I want to apologize again for what happened with Mr.