The Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith Read Free Book Online

red-and-white lights. Detective Hanlon had decided to take his advice after all. An officer with a wide-brimmed hat stood in front of the cruiser directing him to turn around. Sterling pulled the car up closer, then killed the engine.
    “Gotta take it back around West Wheelock and up to I-91,” the officer said. The strap underneath his chin was so tight he had to strain to open his jaw.
    “Agent Sterling Bledsoe,” Sterling said, flashing his creds.
    “Oh,” the officer said, pumping Sterling's hand. He was a big man, at least six foot five, maybe two fifty. All muscle. “I'm Officer McGran.” A look of confusion etched his youthful face.
    Sterling wasn't surprised. A black man in a sports car in this area wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence. “I'm also his brother,” Sterling said. “I just arrived from the city.”
    “The city, sir?”
    “New York City. I got the call early this morning.” Sterling leaned his head slightly to see around McGran's massive shoulders. There were three other cruisers and an unmarked car. He counted at least five uniformed officers and three in civvies walking along the road and into the woods. They were wearing bright yellow jackets. “Have they found anything yet?” he asked McGran.
    “Just getting started,” McGran replied, swinging his arm wide so that Sterling could get a better view. He moved just like he sounded, stiff and mechanical. Everything about him was uneasy.
    “Who's in charge?” Sterling asked.
    “Captain Stangle,” the officer replied.
    “Which one is he?”
    “The only one not wearing yellow.”
    “And Detective Hanlon?”
    “Still at the house with Mrs. Bledsoe. She's taking all this kinda hard.”
    “Has she left the house yet?”
    “From what I've been told, she drove down here last night herself, but she didn't see anything so she turned around and went back home.”
    “What time was that?” Sterling was in his element—a possible crime scene, local police, undiscovered clues, and a bad feeling in his stomach that was getting worse by the minute. He tried his best to forget that it was his brother he was looking for—the less attached the investigator, the better the investigation.
The heart has a strange way of blurring the mind
. One of the first lessons pounded into the trainees at the academy. Then again, who could ever be prepared to investigate a missing brother?
    “I don't have all the details, Agent,” McGran admitted. “Maybe you should speak to Cap.” McGran turned on his heels and walked over to the captain, who was wearing a dark green windbreaker. The stub of a cigar hung from the right side of his mouth. Wisps of silver hair peeped out from underneath his black baseball cap, and the deep lines in his leathery forehead put his age near sixty. He looked in Sterling's direction, nodded once, and then headed over, the robocop trailing behind.
    “Morning to ya,” the captain said, extending a meaty hand. “I'm Captain Stangle from the Norwich Police Department here in Vermont.”
    “Agent Sterling Bledsoe,” Sterling said. “Professor Bledsoe's brother.” Sterling took Stangle's fleshy hand and immediately realized that it was too large for a firm grip. Wilson had told him that they grew them big here. Something to do with the water, he had joked.
    “Sorry to have you up here on such an occasion,” Stangle said, volleying the crumbling cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. Not once did it look in danger of falling. He'd obviously had lots of practice. “It's the damnedest thing.”
    “What do you know so far?”
    Stangle looked dismissively at McGran, who was hovering over his right shoulder. “Come with me,” he said to Sterling. “Try to follow in my footsteps. We're still collecting evidence.”
    Sterling followed him to a small area just off the road. Stangle took out a notepad and flipped the tattered pages. “It just doesn't make much sense,” he said, rubbing the creases in his forehead. The