Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) by Chester D. Campbell Read Free Book Online Page B

soon.
    Anytime now . . .
    I dialed the police non-emergency number, putting the plan together as I dialed. I gave my name and address and reported we’d had a break-in. The house had been vandalized. Play to the obvious, Greg. Meantime, think.
    “What did they take?” the officer asked.
    “I’m not sure yet. Some of the big things are still here. TV, computers. I haven’t had time to inventory yet. But they trashed the place.”
    “Okay. We’ll send someone over to check it out.”
    I sat in the living room waiting for either the phone or the doorbell to ring. I sat on the couch thinking, easing the clip from the Beretta and palming it back into the butt. A soothing rhythm while anger and fear roiled inside. Think.
    When the cop came I’d be open and confused by the break-in. Surprised at what was taken and what wasn’t. You’ve got me, officer . . . Lead him along while I worked through what I was going to do.
    When the doorbell finally rang , I slid the pistol under a couch cushion. I could see a blue-uniformed cop through the window. All told the response time was mighty quick. Too damned quick. I filed the thought away. He was in his late thirties, short, with close cropped hair and restless eyes. A three-striper.
    “I’m Sergeant Christie,” he said as I invited him in. “You’re Greg McKenzie. I recognize you.” He did not offer his hand and neither did I.
    “Like to see the mess?”
    “Let’s get the particulars first.” As he looked around the large living room I got the feeling he was surprised at the affluence.
    “Why don’t you take the chair over there.”
    He continued to stand.
    “When did you find someone had broken in?”
    “When I got home. The door was unlocked–”
    “You’re telling me a trained investigator leaves his door unlocked?”
    “No. I’m telling you I found it unlocked.”
    “Stuck the code somewhere in case you forgot it?”
    “No.”
    “How come you don’t have an alarm system? The place looks like it could afford one.”
    “My choice. Any other questions?”
    He wasn’t asking about Jill. I’d see he got his routine report and then get him the hell out of here.
    “You don’t have to get scratchy, McKenzie.”
    “Just do your job and leave. I’ve had enough of Metro and Tremaine and newspaper bullshit. What else do you need to know, or can you look around now?”
    He shoved his pen in a pocket and flipped his notebook closed. “Crime Scene can take it from here. But don’t expect any arrests, McKenzie. You know how incompetent we are.”
    At the door I snapped, “Don’t bother with the Crime Scene Unit. I need to clean this place up.”
    I watched the cruiser pull away, then returned to the couch to think. I had cleared the deck, got the report in, now I was free to move. The Beretta was warm in my hands. I didn’t remember retrieving it from under the cushion. Now the wait.
    Hold on, Jill, light of my life. Hold on.
    I stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for some Arab sonofabitch.
     
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    The phone rang. I was ready, but it was Sam Gannon on the line. “Did Jill have car trouble?” he asked.
    I frowned. “Not that I know of.”
    “I just came through Andrew Jackson Parkway and saw her Camry sitting on the side of the street.”
    I felt a knot tightening in my stomach. “You’re sure it was Jill’s car?”
    “Positive. Had her Gethsemane UMW bumper sticker on it. Hasn’t she been in touch?”
    “No,” I said.
    Jill had a cell phone in her car. If she’d had a breakdown or run out of gas, she would have called me. Viewing the kitchen as a crime scene, I visualized what had happened. Jill had come home from the grocery, left the door unlocked as she put her perishables in the fridge, and was surprised by intruders. They trashed the house then, for reasons unknown, took her with them.
    Why her car had been deserted on Andrew Jackson Parkway was another mystery. One I needed to look into.
    I ran shaky