PsyCop 3: Body and Soul by Jordan Castillo Price

Author:Jordan Castillo Price [Price, Jordan Castillo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mm
Publisher: JCP Books LLC
Published: 2011-03-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Zigler did allow me to eat hot dogs in his car, after all. He even bought me new ones, since the first two I'd gotten were either frozen or squashed flat. I let him pay. I figured it was the least he could do after hijacking me to the near north suburbs to resolve a personal ghost issue while we were supposed to be turning up Lopez, Adamson, and Lynch.

Adamson's spirit wasn't lurking around his workplace, not that I could blame it. I hoped that I wouldn't end up hovering around the coffee pot at the Fifth Precinct for all eternity.

Then again, maybe the problem had nothing to do with whether or not his job as a collection agent was emotionally or spiritually satisfying.

Maybe Ronald Adamson wasn't even dead.

Right.

And I was the poster boy for a Drug-Free America.

We headed back to the fifth to wrap up for the day about quarter after five.

Zigler and I both focused on our cell phones as we headed back toward our desks. He was saying something about dinner, and I'd hoped to figure out how many condo viewings I'd need to endure that night. Not that knowing the number ahead of time actually made any difference; I was just feeling masochistic.

Jacob was in the middle of telling me about a brownstone off Lawrence that had just been listed, when I stopped dead in my tracks. Zigler stopped behind me, too close for comfort, and backed off a step.

There was a white-haired granny parked in front of my desk on a candy apple red scooter. There were patriotic red, white, and blue plastic streamers dangling from the scooter's handlebars, and a "My Cat is Smarter than Your Honor Student" bumper sticker stuck crookedly on the fender. She looked me in the eye and glared.

"Jacob? I'll, uh ... call you back."

I glanced back at Betty's desk to try to get a hint as to what Granny Sunshine was doing in our office, but her computer monitor was dark and her blotter was neat and empty. Betty didn't work on Sundays.

So someone up front had let this old lady in, given her permission to drive up to my desk and just sit there for God knows how long. "Um ... Ma'am?"

"Are you the policemen looking for Ronnie?"

I looked to Zigler for help, but he just stood there and waited for me, as senior officer, to answer. "Well, we're, uh... we're working on the case ... I assume you mean Ronald—uh, Ron—Adamson. Sergeant Warwick is actually in charge of the investigation...."

"Have you found anything?"

"I take it you're his...?"

"Ronnie's mother. Myra Adamson."

I maneuvered around her scooter and pulled out my chair.

The paperclips on top of my desk were exactly as I had left them, in a tiny, neat mound.

"Mrs. Adamson. Right. Yes. I'm Detective Bayne and this is Detective Zigler."

Zigler flipped open his notebook, pen poised over the blank sheet. "The last time you spoke to your son," he said, "did you notice anything peculiar?"

I was thankful that Zigler was willing to interview everyone.

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