Ring In the Dead by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online

only prints on the murder weapon. As far as I’m concerned, that means he pulled the trigger. He’s also got shot residue on his hands.”
    â€œWe were at the range yesterday morning,” I countered. “We were doing target practice. You can check with them to verify that.”
    â€œOh, we’ll be verifying that story, all right,” Tatum assured me. “In the meantime, as long as Detective Gurkey is under investigation, you need to know that you’re under investigation as well.”
    â€œWhy?” I demanded. “What did I do? I was sitting there eating my hamburger and minding my own business when the shots were fired. I don’t understand why you’re investigating me.”
    â€œYou know the drill,” Tatum said with a shrug. “It’s the old what-­did-­you-­know-­and-­when-­did-­you-­know-­it routine. I’ve told Captain Tompkins to keep you sidelined for the next little while. I wouldn’t mind that much if I were you. I got a look at the next week’s weather forecast. It’s going to be hot as Hades outside. You’ll be way better off cooling your heels at a desk job than you will be out tracking bad guys on sidewalks hot enough to fry eggs.”
    I didn’t dignify that statement with a response. Instead, I asked, “What about the two runners—­the guys who skipped out on paying their tab, the ones Lulu came outside chasing. What about them? Are you even looking for them?”
    â€œDetective Beaumont,” Tatum said with a grim smile. “I don’t believe you understand. This matter is not yours to investigate. Internal Affairs is handling it. What we do or do not do is none of your concern. Am I making myself clear?”
    The threat was there and so was the message: Stay the hell out of the way or get run over and risk your career in the process.
    â€œDetective Gurkey did not kill that woman,” I declared.
    Tatum smiled again. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it.”
    We sat there for a length of time, doing a stare down. “May I go?” I said finally.
    â€œOf course,” he said. “Just so long as we understand one another.”
    We did that! I rode the elevator down to the fifth floor in a cloud of outrage, where I soon discovered I was not alone. Every detective in Homicide was pissed. They all figured like I did that Pickles was getting a bum rap. He was within months of being able to pull the plug and get a pension. If IA somehow made a homicide charge stick against him, he would be out on the street with nothing.
    Pickles remained hospitalized for the next ten days. Captain Tompkins found me some inane busywork checking inventories in the Evidence Room. That’s what I was doing a week later, when I made it a point to track down the McCaffey murder case file. Among the items in evidence I located the piece of paper—­the blank order form—­Bob Murray had used to write down the names of potential witnesses in the case. A quick check in the murder book revealed that not one of those folks had been singled out for additional interviews beyond my brief questioning of them in the bar at the Doghouse the day the shooting happened. Unbelievable! Pickles Gurkey was being railroaded fair and square.
    It was almost time to go home. I had stopped by Pickles and my cubby on my way out. Pickles’s desk was awash in cards and flower and balloons. I was sitting there wondering if I should drag all that stuff up to the hospital before I went home, when my phone rang.
    â€œHey,” Bob Murray said. “I’ve been calling and calling. How come you never answer your phone?”
    â€œBecause I haven’t been at my desk,” I said curtly. “Did you ever think of leaving a message?”
    â€œIs it true Internal Affairs is out to get Milton?” Bob asked.
    Police departments are a lot like families. We can say whatever we