Soundkeeper by Michael Hervey Read Free Book Online

specifics.
    He handed her two business cards, his and one from a local church that had a ministry for girls in trouble.
    “I don’t need any help,” she said. “I’m just doing this to get enough money to go back to nursing school. As soon as I get my boobs paid off I can start saving for college. Will you tell the judge I helped you?”
    “Sure, if this turns into anything, I will. Not much to tell so far. Call me if you find out anything else. Better yet, call Reverend Phil. He can help you more than I ever could. What bank gave you a loan for a boob job?”
    She had a mouthful of food and her cigarette had burned down to the filter. She gave him a look he was accustomed to with two children of his own.
    “Bobby, the owner of the Pony. He loaned me the money. I’m paying them off while I dance at his place.”
    His unmarked patrol car was parked at the grocery store next door. When he walked over to it he ran his hand across the stubble of his crew cut, two days away from his weekly trip to the barber. The humidity was already making him feel sticky in his long sleeved dress shirt and neck tie. He remembered his first day as a detective when his wife told him that he could never, ever wear a tie with a short sleeved shirt unless he was selling appliances at Sears. She used to lay his clothes out for him the night before so he wouldn’t wear anything that clashed.
    He stood next to his car for a minute and finished his cigarette. A younger guy in a hooded sweatshirt came out of the restaurant and walked over to him.
    “Anything worthwhile?” he asked. Varnum never met with a snitch alone. The plainclothes officer that was his close cover worked in narcotics.
    “Who knows?” Varnum said. “She gave me a few tag numbers from some guy that has ‘something big’ going down. I probably wasted fifty bucks of the sheriff’s money.”
    The younger cop shrugged. Every cop that ever had a snitch knew how the game was played.
    “Later, Dude.”
    Varnum watched him go. His son called him “Dude”. Once. Now he was in Iraq, choking on the same dust that his father had eaten twenty years ago. The empty nest wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when there was no one to share it with.
    When he was back in his cubicle he typed up a Contact Report and logged it into the system. He ran the tag numbers the girl had given him and then ran criminal histories on the owners. The first tag was assigned to an Audi, last year’s model. The registered owner had no criminal history. He Googled the name and found out that he was a local real estate broker and developer. His web site claimed he had sold over ten million dollars in real estate every year for the past five years. Varnum did the math and decided this must be the guy who looked like he had money. His picture was superimposed over a drawing of his latest proposed development and Varnum printed it and started a new file.
    The second tag belonged to a ten year old Trans Am registered to a woman who lived in Port Royal. A driver’s license check under the same name and address indicated that the owner was a seventy year old woman. Mom. He ran the address through the state arrestee database and found that a subject that had just been released on parole listed that address as his home. He’d been released four months ago after serving a stretch for aggravated assault, forgery, and sexual assault. He seemed to be an interesting companion for a respected real estate developer. Varnum put the printouts of the parolee in the file with the other information.
    Before he logged off he looked around to make sure that no one else was nearby and went to another website where he entered his user name and password. Hearts and hokey music greeted him but not a single private message. Twenty-three views, but no messages. There were two more days left in his month-long trial membership, but at this rate he didn’t think he wanted to pay for the rejection he was getting for free.
    The phone