The Dead Soul by M. William Phelps Read Free Book Online Page A

stage-four turmoil.
    “And that favor, Detective Cooper,” Mo yelled from behind his desk, getting up. “I need you to do that for me and we’ll consider ourselves even.”
    Jake looked in both directions, walked inside Mo’s doorway. “What favor, Mo? Make it quick.”
    “Take a peek for me in a file downtown. Mancini Construction. See if I’m tied to that investigation.”
    Jake rubbed his temples, paused. “Are you kidding me?”
    “Come on, Jake. It’s not so bad.”
    “Not doing it, Mo. Forget it.”
    “Okay.” Mo took a breath, walked toward the door. “But hey, you might want to check if your name is part of it, too, son.”
    Mo slammed the door in Jake’s face.
     

 
    9
     
    Friday, September 5 - 9:11 A.M.
     
    As it normally did in Massachusetts during early September, the weather turned. This morning the sun was brutal, bright, and glaring. Fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot. The humidity no help, heading off the charts at an unbreathable intensity. The kids near the Mission Hill Playground skipping school danced around an open fire hydrant.
    Taking a right on Albany Street in Roxbury, Jake tried clearing his mind of Mo.
    … that partner of yours, Detective Shaughnessy. ….
    The stressed cop wore a pair of Fear and Loathing mirror sunglasses. Jake drove the candy apple red Chevelle he and Casey had restored together as kids. The car still had an 8-track deck, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours sticking out of it like a pop tart. The Crown Vic was in the garage getting tuned-up. It hurt to drive the old car. Jake could see Casey sitting next to him, smiling, laughing at some stupid joke of his. Always the big brother.
    Jake pulled into the entrance, stopping at the guard shack. The wooden parking garage gate lever was down, a director’s clapboard, prohibiting Jake from passing. To his left stood the towering Officer of the Chief Medical Examiner Building. Not Jake’s favorite place.
    Howard Tiegs was one of those routine professionals Jake Cooper crossed paths with throughout his work day. Like many of the others, Tiegs saw Jake as a liability to himself. His own worse enemy. “You’re one of those ‘half-empty’ guys, Cooper, huh?” Tiegs had said the last time Jake came to the CME building.
    Jake wondered what cop wasn’t.
    “How are you, Howard?” Jake flashed his ID toward the kiosk. Sweat fell from his brow behind his sunglasses. “How’s Tyler? Still hitting those boards like Reggie Lewis, I bet.”
    Tiegs laughed. Looked up from his clipboard. Shook his head. Signed Jake in. “Ain’t no matter how long I seen you, Coop, you always remember my boy. Ty is great.” A smile. “Thanks for asking.”
    Jake chirped the tires around the corner. A rumbling of the Chevelle’s throaty four-barrel carburetor echoed throughout the two–tiered cement parking garage. He popped the door, walked a few steps, then hit the elevator arrow button DOWN.
    There was, after all, no other place for the dead to go.
    The sudden drop turned Jake’s stomach to mud. He likened it to that feeling of ingesting too much cake frosting at once. Queasy, they called it. After his insides settled, Jake powered up his iPhone. Typed out a new file name: Mancini. He’d heard of the company, a major contractor for the Big Dig who had hired on- and off-duty BPD cops as part of a deal with the local Teamsters. Jake needed to find out where Mo fit into that mix. Mo was up to something, or would have never mentioned it.
    The doors ding -ed open and made a Star Trek-like swoosh sliding apart. Jake stepped from the elevator onto the white-tiled floor. As he did, that smell wafted up and hit him square in the sinuses. The awful, unmistakable aroma of decomposing flesh. Heavy and thick, like a landfill.
    “Wow,” Jake said, choking, cupping both hands over his nose and mouth. The air conditioning made it worse. Fresher. More pungent.
    “Hey, Cooper. How are you?” Dr. Leona Kelsey said. The pathologist had one of those proper,