Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) by Adam Netherlund

Author:Adam Netherlund [Netherlund, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction/Thriller/Mystery/Crime
Publisher: EnemyOne
Published: 2015-02-17T05:00:00+00:00

TUESDAY

CHAPTER 28

Berlin nodded at the front desk sergeant as he entered the downtown Headquarters. It was early, approaching seven a.m., and he hoped to have some time alone before Mitchell came in for his shift. He sat down at his desk and drummed his fingers. Operating on very little sleep, his body felt tender and sore all over. His head felt like it was filled with quicksand. In his head was an endless stream of regurgitating thoughts, sinking one after the other. Like Kate in the water.

He tried to put his mind at ease, attempting to focus his thoughts, and lock the dream of Kate away for good. Into the dark place, a place where his mind couldn’t access it.

Wouldn’t access it.

He had more important things to worry about in the here and now. Like whether or not Ecker was going to throw a fit for essentially accomplishing nothing on the Scott case.

What was he missing?

What had they overlooked?

The words kept repeating throughout his head, like a song stuck on repeat.

He leaned back in his chair, pushing it onto its back legs. Stretching back his arms, he ran his fingers through his hair and massaged at his neck with his fingertips.

Think, think.

Where could he turn?

What was it that she had said in the dream? The line about beginnings and endings?

The beginning had been Scott’s body under the canal with two in the chest. No, before that…what led to that? What led to his murder?

I don’t know.

Berlin frantically started to search the top of his desk, moving stacks of paper from one side then to the other. He pulled out folders and other documents from the black tray holder that housed even more paperwork at the corner of his desk.

Where did he put those files? Scott’s personal files?

“Lose something, pal?” a voice asked him.

Berlin gazed up at the voice with puffy eyes. It was Simmons, one of Richardson’s men. “Nah, I’ll be fine,” Berlin croaked.

“If you say so,” Simmons said. He continued to walk down the aisle past him.

Berlin traced Simmons’ path and saw Chief Ecker, waiting for him at the end of the aisle, his door open. The two men shook hands and Ecker closed the door behind them.

Curious.

Berlin reached down to his right and unlocked the desk drawer. He thumbed through the manila folders and read each name scribbled at the top in black permanent marker. They mostly consisted of his own personal records that he had brought over from Port. A few cold cases were scattered among them, cases that Berlin just couldn’t let go. Every Homicide Detective had them. They haunted you.

He was about to give up on the task when he had one last inkling. He reached into the back of the drawer, pulling the folders taut and squishing them together into one unit. Near the back were several other dingy-colored folders and clippings. He picked up the stack and brought them up onto the desk in one big heap. He turned on his desk lamp and cast all of the other paperwork aside.

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