exactly do you think this is going to end?”
He indicated the gray clouds that were suddenly crowding the sun. “I think it’s going to rain.”
“There’s definitely a storm coming.” Her tone quickly changed. “Ah, Major Branson. Thank you for making the drive.”
Will stood as a woman wearing a dark blue police uniform came into the office. Ribbons and commendations filled her chest. A heavy-looking leather briefcase was in her hand. She was shortand stocky, with her curly black hair shaved close to her head. She seemed about as happy to be here as Will.
Amanda made the introductions. “Special Agent Trent, this is Major Branson with the Macon Police Department. Denise is our liaison on the Jared Long shooting.”
Will felt his bowels loosen. “I’m doing the investigation?”
A smile teased at Amanda’s lips before she said, “No, Faith will take the lead.”
“Already got it figured out?” Branson’s temper sounded poised to uncoil. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Deputy Director. I’m not real happy with the idea of your people stomping around my patch like you own the place.”
Amanda’s tone stayed light. “Yet your chief sent you two hours north expressly to turn over all of your files.”
“An hour and a half,” Branson corrected. “And I may work for the man, but I don’t always agree with him.”
“Fair enough.” Amanda indicated the chair in front of her desk. “Why don’t we get our little pissing contest out of the way while Agent Trent fetches us some coffee?”
Branson sat, her briefcase clutched in her lap. Without looking at Will, she said, “Black, two sugars.”
Amanda smiled her cat’s smile. “Just black for me.”
Will wasn’t happy to be the designated fetcher, but he knew better than to linger. Outside the office, Caroline, Amanda’s secretary, was sitting at her desk. She smiled at Will. “Cream. Two Sweet’N Lows.”
Will saluted at her request as he walked into the hallway. His shoes sank into the padded carpet on the floor. He felt the chill of air-conditioning. City Hall East was housed in an old Sears building that had been built in the 1920s. When the city took over back in the nineties, only the important parts had been renovated, namely the executive suites. Three stories down in Will’s shoebox of an office, the air was stale and likely toxic. The windows were rusted closed. The cracked asbestos tiles on the floor were scuffedred from the Georgia clay that had traveled in on nearly a hundred years of wingtips.
It wasn’t just the air that was better on the top floor. The kitchen was a showplace, with dark cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The coffeemaker looked like something a Transformer would shake off its leg. Will guessed the machine was the fancy kind that required pods. He checked the cabinets and found two boxes. He assumed Amanda drank the pink and orange Dunkin’ Donuts high-test. The other box contained purple and yellow pods with flowers and vanilla beans emblazoned on the foil. Will took out three hazelnuts and shut the cabinet door.
After a few false starts, he figured out how to load a pod. Another minute passed before he managed to pry open the lid of the water tank and fill it to the line. He took three mugs off the hooks and waited for the water to boil.
Out of habit, Will opened the refrigerator door. There were a couple of paper bags in the fridge, but no old takeout containers or rotting food that smelled like it belonged in the morgue. Before Will started dating Sara, everything he ate was an on-the-go type of meal, whether it was a bowl of cereal he downed while standing over the sink or the hot dogs he bought at the gas station on his way home.
Now when Will went home, that usually meant Sara’s apartment and something for dinner that didn’t roll under a heat lamp all day.
Or it meant that for the time being.
Finally, the red light flashed on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on