Bitter Blood (Morganville Book #2)

Chapter 3

Detective Joe Hess.

I turned the scroll over and over in sweaty fingers as I walked, wondering what would happen if I just tossed it down a storm drain. Well, obviously, Bishop would be pissed. And probably homicidal, not that he wasn't mostly that all the time. Besides, what I was carrying might not be anything bad. Right? Maybe it just looked like a death warrant. Maybe it was a decree that Friday was ice cream day or something.

A car cruised past me, and I sensed the driver staring at me, then speeding up. Nothing to see here but a sad, stupid evil pawn, I thought bitterly. Move along.

The police station was in City Hall as well, and the entire building was being renovated, with work crews ripping out twisted metal and breaking down stone to put in new braces and bricks. The side that held the jail and the police headquarters area hadn't been much damaged, and I headed for the big, high counter that was manned by the desk sergeant.

"Detective Joe Hess," I said. "Please."

The policeman barely glanced up at me. "Sign in; state your name and business."

I reached for the clipboard and pen and carefully wrote my name. "Anastasia Ian. I have a delivery from Mr. Bishop."

There were other things going on in the main reception area - a couple of drunks handcuffed to a huge wooden bench, some lawyers getting a cup of coffee from a big silver pot near the back.

Everything stopped. Even the drunks.

The desk sergeant looked up, and I saw a weary anger in his eyes before he put on a blank, hard expression. "Have a seat," he said. "I'll see if he's here."

He turned away and picked up a phone. I didn't watch him make the call. I was too lost in my own misery. I stared down at the writing on the scroll and wished I knew what was inside - but then, it might make it worse if I did know. I'm only a messenger.

Yeah, that was going to make me sleep nights.

The desk sergeant spoke quietly and hung up, but he didn't come back to the counter. Avoiding me, I assumed; I was getting used to that. The good people avoided me, the bad people sucked up to me. It was depressing.

My tattoo itched. I rubbed the cloth of my shirt over it, and watched the reinforced door that led into the rest of the police station.

Detective Hess came out just about a minute later. He was smiling when he saw me, and that hurt. Badly. He'd been one of the first adults to really be helpful to me in Morganville - he and his partner, Detective Lowe, had gone out of their way for me not just once, but several times. And now I was doing this to him.

I felt sick as I rose to my feet.

"Anastasia. Always a pleasure," he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it. "This way."

The desk sergeant held out a badge as I passed. I clipped it on my shirt and followed Joe Hess into a big, plain open area. His desk was near the back of the room, next to a matching one that had his partner's nameplate on the edge. Nothing fancy. Nobody had a lot of personal stuff on their desks. I supposed that maybe it wasn't a good idea to have breakables, if you interviewed angry people all day.

I settled into a chair next to his desk, and he took a seat, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. He had a kind face, and he wasn't trying to intimidate me. In fact, I had the impression he was trying to make it easy on me.

"How are you holding up?" he asked me, which was the same thing Richard Morrell had said. I wondered if I looked that damaged. Probably.

I swallowed and looked down at my hands, and the scroll held in my right one. I slowly stretched it out toward him. "I'm sorry," I said. "Sir, I'm . . . so sorry." I wanted to explain to him, but there really didn't seem to be much to excuse it at the moment. I was here. I was doing what Bishop wanted me to do.