When the Dead Speak

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

By the next morning, crews had successfully removed the body from the concrete pillar. Just as Jake and Frank were ready to leave for the medical examiner's office, Murphy appeared.

"In my office," Murphy barked at the two detectives. "Jake only," Murphy clarified as the two started to rise.

"We were just getting ready to go to Benny's office." Jake closed the door and sat down.

"This won't take long. I haven't had the chance to commend you for making an ass out of yourself at Preston's reception Saturday night."

"Sorry. I thought I took an oath to uphold the law."

Murphy slowly lowered himself into his chair. "I've been more than patient with you. You're showing signs of burnout, drinking too much, and you just don't seem to have that enthusiasm anymore. Your chances of being promoted are remote, at best." He smiled as though the very thought delighted him.

"Two beers after work is hardly the makings of an alcoholic," Jake spit out.

Murphy arched one thick brow saying, "You have three in your car before you even leave the parking lot, Detective. Care to try your math again?"

Jake crossed his left ankle over his right knee. Murphy gazed at Jake's gym shoes. Jake was a firm believer in following rules. But he never met a man he despised more than Murphy, and any way he could find to irritate the hell out of him, he did. Like refusing to wear a suit every day. The only reason he wore as much as a sportcoat was to conceal his belt holster. He preferred comfortable polo shirts or jersey pullovers, anything that didn't require a tie. And seeing Murphy cringe every time he wore his gym shoes brought one of those rare smiles to his face.

Murphy folded his hands over a manila file folder. His skin was leathered from the tanning spa, causing deep crease lines to form around his eyes.

"Your file is impressive. Five years with the FBI, seven years with CHPD. It seems once you moved from FBI to police work, your enthusiasm went right down the toilet."

"All this because I almost halted Preston Hilliard's illegal blackjack game?" Jake challenged.

Murphy's eyes narrowed. "I could bust you down to writing tickets if I wanted to. But I need your skills. The chief is transferring one of his people here, a Sergeant Sam Casey. I think Casey is a plant. Connelley would like nothing better than to see me out of here. But I'm going to stay two steps ahead of him. I want you and Frank to work with Casey. I'll let Mick know that I want you to have every opportunity to redeem yourself. I want to know anything remotely suspicious Casey is working on. If you can do that, I'll see to it you make sergeant."

Jake's radar went on high alert. Murphy had an agenda and Jake's suspicions and curiosity were kicking into overdrive. Jake studied him the way he would a suspect. "What makes you think I WANT to make sergeant?"

"EVERYONE wants to make sergeant."

"What if I don't come up with something?"

Murphy leaned over his desk, close enough for Jake to smell his morning cups of black coffee. "Then you are free to do anything necessary to guarantee that you DO come up with something, if you get my drift."

Jake tightened his jaw, uncrossed his legs and stood up.

Murphy walked him to the door and stuck out his hand. "Good hunting, Detective." Jake looked at the uncallused hand with its manicured nails and walked out.