Chasing the Ghost v5 by Bob Mayer

Author:Bob Mayer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Who Dares Wins Publishing
Published: 2010-06-29T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Chase drove from the Silver Satyr back to Police headquarters. There were two things he wanted to do before calling it a night.

Chase dug through his folders until he found Rachel’s address book. He flipped the pages looking for doctors. By checking the phone book against her notations he found a local gynecologist. She had him listed under D. Chase copied the name and number onto his notepad. Then he listed out all the numbers in the book that had some sort of code next to them. There were three. All with 303 area codes meaning they were local. Chase used the reverse directory to look them up.

The first, labeled CC, was the Boulder Country Club. The second labeled F was a floral shop. Chase hit pay dirt on the third: CB. Although it had a 303 area code, the next three digits weren't listed in the Boulder Directory.

Chase expanded his search and eventually found it in the Denver Directory: Doctor Carl Bednarick, Physician and Surgeon, MD, Gynecology. Sylvie had called this one perfectly.

Chase left his desk and went down to the first floor to Boulder’s small vice and drugs division. At almost ten at night, most of the desks were empty as the occupants were out on the street doing their thing. Vice and drugs worked nights when business was good.

Chase scanned the few occupied desks looking for a friendly face. He spotted one in the far corner. It wasn't a friendly one, but it was a known one. Buck Rudolph looked like a typical redneck. And he was. He didn't just hate minorities, he hated everyone, except cops, equally. To him you were either a cop or you were scum. He was from somewhere in Alabama and Chase had no clue how he’d ended up here in Colorado.

Rudolph had busted more than his share of all strata of society as they partook in the various sins that laws classify as no-no's; because of that he'd learned that it didn't matter if someone wore a three piece suit or a cut-off t-shirt. To him everyone was just as dirty inside.

Chase could tell Rudolph was watching him approach from across the room. He was only about five foot seven and weighed no more than a hundred and forty pounds. He had scraggly black hair and a pinched face. He'd have looked good in a pair of jeans with no shoes up in the hills of his home state playing a banjo. Chase had worked with him in the past once and after the case they’d gotten drunk together. Chase didn't care for his personality, but he was good at his job and it paid to cultivate efficient friends. They’d exchanged favors as vice and major cases crossed paths more often than not.

"What brings you down here, Chase? Bored with the high speed cases and want to wallow in the pig trough?"

Chase rolled over a chair. "I got a body."

"What else is new?" Rudolph let loose a long line of tobacco juice into the empty coffee can on his desk.

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