Blood Money Murder by Jessie Chandler

Author:Jessie Chandler [Chandler, Jessie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

By the time JT arrived at the precinct, it was noon. She made a beeline for her desk in the squad room.

The radiators were still radiating plenty of heat even though the temps outside had mellowed. The old building was often too hot or too cold, but for once she welcomed the almost oppressive warmth.

Eight sets of two desks were arranged throughout the squad room. The walls were painted Carolina blue, thanks to a past police chief who believed the shade induced better concentration. That outcome was still up in the air.

An office belonging to the lieutenant faced the bull pen. Every time JT saw his two windows blanked out by white slat blinds, she was reminded of zombie eyes. Another office had been converted into a war room, complete with a not too beat-up conference table, some ragtag chairs and three whiteboards. The last office had become a half-assed break room.

JT shrugged out of her jacket and slung it over the back of her chair. She kept her head down, hoping anyone who saw her come in would think she was too busy to bullshit. She impatiently tapped a pen against the keyboard as she waited for the machine to boot.

The room buzzed with the usual air of caged anticipation and the business of fighting crime. Five detectives were in, busy working on various tasks. Two talked to a woman in cuffs wearing a tight miniskirt. Mascara streaked her cheeks from a recent bout of tears.

The light in the LT’s office was off, and if JT was lucky she could run her checks and get out before he returned and questioned what the hell she was doing. Since she’d been loaned to the task force, she swung by to catch up on administrative details every couple of weeks. Her appearance now wouldn’t seem so out of place if she hadn’t been in four days ago.

Finally the black screen popped to life, displaying the MPD log-in. It took three fumbling tries before she managed to type in the correct password. She was about to enter Dwight Sheets into the system when Detective Tom Shaw, unrelated to the Tommy Shaw of Styx fame, exited the break room with a steaming cup of coffee. Unlike the diminutive singer, this Shaw was well over six feet, and probably tipped the scales at two-fifty. The only resemblance came from the gray-blond goatee they both favored. “Hey Bordeaux, you’re back.”

Damn it. Shaw was a great detective and a nice guy, but he had a propensity for nosiness, which was probably why he was so good at his job.

“Just swung by to grab some records, then I have to beat it.”

“I’m outta here.” He saluted her with a raised mug and, thankfully, walked out.

“See ya, man,” JT muttered under her breath. Her back was so stiff she felt like her shoulder blades might burst through her skin. She returned her attention to the monitor, finished inputting the name. No one else better come along who wanted to chat or she might accidentally punch them.

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