When the Dead Speak

Chapter 64

Chapter 64

"Where's he at?" Sam whispered, as she and Tim crept in through the back door by the kitchen.

"Upstairs getting ready," Jackie replied.

They were in Preston's house. The staff had been given the night off. Jackie had conveniently run into Preston earlier and made arrangements to stop by tonight.

"Wow." Tim's eyes took in Jackie's tight black skirt and gold sequined top that was stretched over her massive chest.

"Down, boy," Jackie laughed.

Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Long, curly hair ratted for even more fullness, the sides punked out to display her cheekbones, cobalt blue eye shadow, lipstick thick and glossy, and large rhinestone earrings. Her royal blue spaghetti-strap dress looked as if it had been painted on.

Sam was thankful that Jake had been at the office most of the afternoon so she didn't have to explain what she and Jackie were up to.

"Are we ready?" Jackie asked. Looking down at Sam's feet, Jackie said, "And, pulleeze take care of my shoes."

"I know. They cost you a hundred and fifty dollars."

"That's what I hate about getting a call fifteen minutes before quitting time." Frank pounded the keyboard, pressed the PAGEUP key. "By the time we're done talking to the stiff's family and witnesses and writing up the report, half the night is over. Frank tugged on his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it on top of the IN box on his desk. "It's so goddam hot in here."

Window air conditioners were working overtime but did little to cool the central room. Ceiling fans droned overhead. Attempts were made to give desk clutter some resemblance of order by use of paperweights on haphazard stacks of papers or by placing everything from the top of the desks to the IN boxes.

Jake leaned over Frank's shoulder reading the report as Frank typed. Jerry Sauder, the night duty desk sergeant, lumbered over to Frank's desk. His jaws worked overtime on a piece of gum and he walked as if his feet were always in position one of ballet-pointed out, looking painfully awkward.

"Frank, call on one," Jerry barked between chews.

"Who is this Noland guy?" Jake asked when Frank had hung up the phone.

"Parker Smith's attorney. Parker Smith's daughter won't release a letter Parker wrote until she's had a chance to read it. It seems Parker gave it to Noland years ago and told him to hold onto it and not to release it until his death."

"I guess the sight of that pin literally scared the old guy to death."

When Jerry put another call through, Jake punched the speaker phone. "Mitchell here."

"Detective Mitchell?" The voice had a foreign accent, Asian, Jake guessed.

"Mister Lincoln, I understand you came by earlier."

"I don't trust the phone, Detective."

Frank looked up from the report he was signing. "Trust me, they are fine."

"No. Nothing is fine, Detective. And I really don't want to come back to your office. Not if he's going to be there."

"He, who?"

"Please, I need to meet you away from the office."

"All right." Jake checked his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. "You aren't familiar with the city so why don't you tell us where you are staying and we'll meet you there."

"I don't want to give my location over the phone."

Paranoid, Frank mouthed at Jake as he shook his head.

"You leave now. I saw your picture in the paper. I know what you look like. I will follow you."

"What do you make of that?" Jake asked after he hung up.

"Someone who is scared for his life."