When the Dead Speak

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"What do you make of it?" Frank asked Jake as they drove over to the medical examiner's office.

"Goddam prick. He knows how I feel about him. He should make his offer to Brandon Carter. He's the one kissing his ass for that promotion."

"Because Brandon never sees things through. It doesn't take much to sidetrack him."

"I thought I left the bullshit back in D.C."

"Same bullshit, different bull. Besides, Brandon has been pretty vocal about getting into Internal Affairs."

"I don't like owing people, especially Murphy, him with his twelve-hundred-dollar suits and ostrich shoes."

Frank pulled into the crowded lot next to Headquarters. An enclosed walkway over the lot connected Headquarters to the County Medical Building. They parked near the rear of the building and walked around to the front entrance.

"It's no secret he's had it in for Connelley ever since the mayor gave Connelley the chief position over Murphy." Letting out a chuckle, Frank added, "All those connections didn't do Murphy one damn bit of good. You gotta love it."

"And then his damn comments about my drinking." Jake mumbled.

"Well," Frank started, "you do kinda..."

Holding up a hand like a warning sign, Jake said, "You don't want to go there, Frank. You take care of Claudia and Justin. I'll take care of me."

An uncomfortable silence hung like a curtain between them. Jake started to despise Sister Lucia from grammar school who had a way of ingraining guilt and shame in her students, sometimes for doing absolutely nothing. The case of the guilts that just grabbed him by the neck and throttled him had Sister Lucia's fingerprints all over it.

Frank took the hint and changed the subject. "Find out anything about the mystery thief in the video?"

"Nothing yet. None of my contacts knows anyone fitting the description. Even Juanita wasn't much help. There were a lot of wives and girlfriends there. I guess they all look alike to her."

Frank laughed that deep laugh that seemed to start at the base of his throat. "That was no wife or girlfriend," Frank said. "That lady was good, a pro. Someone has to know her."