Dying to Be Heard: Your Friends Came to See Me Book 2 by DL Benning

Author:DL Benning [Benning, DL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

—Chapter 8—

Daisy’s Demise

The following Tuesday, I parked in front of the Ford Heights Police Department and stepped out with a renewed sense of purpose. I texted Karen and waited by my open trunk. She came out with a small trolley to help me cart in several large gourmet sandwich platters, gallons of tea and lemonade, and cookie trays. Apparently, when word got out that someone was bringing in lunch, lots of people suddenly found office work to attend to on Tuesday.

I didn’t mind. I was grateful to the entire police department for their service. And I hoped it would help me win over Officer Bradley. I’d heard a rumor that he couldn’t resist a good butter cookie.

Bradley spotted me as Karen and I were setting up the lunch spread. I saw him register a look of surprise, then one of amusement. He realized he’d been hoodwinked, but he seemed to be a good sport about it. He walked over to me.

“Okay, Lynn. You got me,” he admitted. “What do you need?”

“I’m so glad I caught you while you at the station!” I said. My tone was cheerfully ironic. “Maybe, after lunch, you and I can talk about the cold case involving Daisy Larson? I’d like a chance to connect to it and see where it leads me. Our favorite ‘old detective’ seemed quite interested in the case.”

“Well, that all depends,” Bradley hesitated. “Are there cookies?”

“Yes! In fact, I’ve just come from a bakery where they sell the most delicious cafeteria-style butter cookies in all of Chicago.”

“Aha! Karen!” Bradley had found his suspect. He realized he was smiling and quickly hardened his expression. “I’ve been wondering how that file ended up on my desk. Yes, that old detective fingered your uncle for the murder, but he couldn’t produce enough evidence to get the state to take him seriously.”

He continued, “I can give you ten minutes after lunch. I really can’t be wast—spending too much time on these unsolvable cases, Lynn. Don’t take it personally. But I have real police work to do.”

“Understood.” His words stung, but I was willing to take any opening I could get.

Once the sandwich and cookie platters had been decimated, I tracked Bradley down at his desk. As promised, he handed me a thick accordion file with all the notes from Daisy’s case. “Printed from digital archives,” he explained.

I asked him if I could sit alone with the file in one of the “fishbowls,” the small, glass-enclosed meeting rooms that reminded me of old phone booths.

“Yeah, no problem,” he was clearly relieved that I wasn’t asking for his help.

I carried the folder into one of the fishbowls, feeling a little self-conscious. Usually when I do my spiritual work, it’s not on display for everyone to see. Still, I had a job to do. I skimmed the pages of the file. A black-and-white photocopy caught my eye: the visible outline of a torn scrap of paper with a smudge in one corner. Closer inspection revealed a faded, partial phone number.

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