Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery by Peter Marabell

Author:Peter Marabell [Marabell, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kendall Sheepman Company
Published: 2021-05-02T22:00:00+00:00

24

“I’ll be in touch, officers,” Deputy Lasher said. The three men exchanged good-byes, and Officers Flores and Bales returned to their beat on Main Street.

“You have a car?” Lasher said.

“Down by the marina,” I said.

He considered that for a moment. “How ‘bout you ride with me?”

I thought about objecting.

“I’ll see to it you get a ride back.”

More than anything else, I wanted to talk with Henri. It wasn’t worth arguing about my car. We went across the street, and climbed into the patrol SUV.

Deputy Lasher said only a few words on the way to the office, which gave me time to think. Henri had obviously made it back to the bookstore to hustle Lenny and Tina out of town. But what happened to the guy he was chasing? Hell, what happened to the guy I was chasing?

The road was thick with traffic. The quaint charm of the houses along Main Street, the privileged life on the fairways of Wequetonsing Golf Club, casually devolved into strip mall storefronts near the airport. The Richard L. Zink Law Enforcement Center, housing the road patrol offices, was a contemporary building with smart roof lines and not a tacky cement block in sight. Its second most notable feature was that it sat across the Harbor-Petoskey Road from Johan’s Burger Express.

Deputy Lasher turned in and parked in the “official” area.

“This way,” he said, pointing to a side entrance.

“Never gone in that way,” I said.

“First time for everything.”

He led me down a corridor with several doors on one side, the holding cell on the other.

“Here,” Lasher said, opening a door to an interview room. “Have a seat.”

The windowless room was about ten-by-six, with a small table and two chairs. I pulled out a chair as the deputy closed the door. I considered my torn shirt, with its missing buttons, and shook my head. Hardly the most professional dress for the job. I was momentarily tempted to call Henri, but walls, especially these walls, had ears (and electronic eyes).

I was replaying the events of the day when my attention was drawn to muffled talking out in the hallway. Moments later, the door opened.

“Why am I not surprised,” I said as Captain Martin Fleener came into the room and closed the door. He leaned back against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his immaculately tailored suit, and stared at me without expression, as if he were trying to decide what to order at a restaurant he didn’t like. His eyes moved, and his head tilted slightly.

“You look like you ought to be in the drunk tank across the hall.”

“A tourist took exception to meeting …”

“So I heard,” Fleener said as he took the other chair.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I said.

“I’m a cop. The building’s full of ‘em.”

“Nice you brought your sense of humor,” I said. “Seriously, why’d the deputy call you?”

Fleener hesitated; I waited.

“I put out the word after Kate Hubbell’s murder. If you pop up …”

“You get a call.”

Fleener put his hands out and smiled.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.