The Love-Haight Case Files by Donald J. Bingle Jean Rabe Read Free Book Online Page A

him.”
    Evelyn knew Thomas hadn’t seen his father for many months. The two didn’t get along, though once upon a time Thomas had admired his father enough to follow in his legal footsteps. Something caused a split, however, and Thomas had talked only a little about it, saying his father delighted in trying cases against OTs and that he disapproved of Thomas’s practice, which favored them.
    “What happened here?” Evelyn tried again, not bothering to hide the desperation in of her voice. She had a hundred more questions, all lining up in her befuddled brain. She shivered; it was cold in here. Val … Valentino was around, probably not willing to show himself. Val hated cops. But the chill told her he was probably hanging in the wall, watching. Maybe Val had seen what happened. “Tell me what happened.” After another swallow of water, she added. “Please.”
    He redirected her just like cops did in the books and movies—the good procedurals in any event—turning the questions to her, carefully, and taking out a notebook. He wasn’t a detective, but he was far from a rookie. She’d spotted a detective in the back, a prim-looking all-business woman in plainclothes.
    Evelyn obligingly went through everything, knowing full well she’d go through it again, tomorrow morning probably, maybe down at the precinct. Where had she been, when had she last seen Thomas, was he alone, what were his plans, etc., etc., etc. Did he have any enemies that she knew of? Had she heard anyone make threats? The policeman gave her next to nothing in return.
    “You have—” She’d watched the police car with the fey in the backseat leave a few minutes ago. “There was a fey in the car, a dark fey. Was he the one? Did he—”
    Can’t discuss it, ma’am … Evelyn.
    Ongoing investigation.
    We’ll know more later.
    Not at liberty to say.
    Sheesh, they really did recite that last line , Evelyn thought. It wasn’t just a piece of TV dialog.
    “I live upstairs, will I be able to—”
    “You lived with Mr. Brock?”
    She shook her head.
    “No, officer, I live on the second floor. Thomas has … had  … an apartment on the third floor.”
    “I don’t think there’ll be a problem with you going to your apartment later. But I’ll check.”
    Evelyn knew there wouldn’t be a problem, she knew the law. They couldn’t keep her out of there, the rent paid up. The crime had been committed here, and her apartment was not accessible from inside this office. But she would let one of the officers walk through her apartment; it would make her feel better.
    No, nothing could make her feel better, she corrected. Thomas Brock is dead. What the hell am I going to do?

    Chapter 1.8
    It was nearly midnight before they’d finished talking to her. The woman, Detective Angela Reese, asked many of the same questions that the first officer had and saying in the middle of it: “sorry for your loss.” They’d told her she didn’t have to go to the station tomorrow after all. She’d given them enough.
    She wouldn’t be going to Massawa for honey wine either.
    Evelyn had gotten another look at the office—an unfortunate long look at the detective’s request. She spotted Val poking his head out of a filing cabinet. The office had only two filing cabinets … not enough casework to justify more. And thankfully those were against the wall near her desk, away from the blood.
    She wanted to talk to the spirit, but knew that wouldn’t happen with the cops around. Val had been picked up a few times when he was breathing, spent more than a few nights in jail, and in death he had retained his passionate loathing for law enforcement.
    “See anything missing, Ms. Love?” the detective had asked.
    Thomas’s computer was there, but the back had been pried off it, the electronic guts ruined, his desk drawers gone through, an impressive-looking diving trophy he’d kept on a shelf broken. The lid of the office’s cashbox was under Thomas’s chair,