THE HANGED MAN: The New Maxwell Knight Thriller by J.T. Brannan

Author:J.T. Brannan [Brannan, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Arrow Publishing
Published: 2019-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Morning, boss,” Dinah Crease says as I walk into the office.

“Morning,” I say, accepting the huge takeout coffee she pushes in my direction. “Good reunion?”

“Oh, you know how these things are,” she says, as she sits down in one of the office chairs. “Lots of people you’d have been happy to never see again, just a few of the ones you actually like; but you keep in touch with them anyway, so it’s nothing new, really.”

“So why go?”

“For you, Max,” she says with a smile. “Remember, a lot of these guys are still in the service, and it pays to grease the wheels from time to time, you never know when we might need something.”

“You’re a real trooper, Dinah,” I say in admiration.

“Sounds like you’ve been partying yourself,” she says. “Enjoy yourself at the Hollywood Ball last night?”

“You heard about that, huh?”

“Hank filled me in. It’s why I brought the black coffee.”

“I appreciate it. I’ve felt better, to be honest.”

“Yeah, you don’t look too good.”

“Hey, don’t hold back, just tell it how it is.”

“You look like shit.”

I laugh, and it hurts my head. I pop a couple of aspirin and wash them down with a gulp of the coffee.

I’m not sure what time I got home, but it probably wasn’t before four a.m. By the time I woke up, Terry had already got all the kids ready and taken them to school. I’d missed another opportunity to have that chat with Emma, and I promise myself that I’ll do it tonight.

“You said you spoke to Hank?” I ask.

“Yeah, late last night. He filled me in on the case.”

I look around the office, as if I might find the guy hiding under a chair. “Where is he this morning?”

“Oh, he’s meeting up with one of his contacts about some of that missing evidence,” she says, and I nod my head. That’s good; if he manages to find some, maybe we can get it independently tested. Back in ’84, they could only type the blood; nowadays, we can test for DNA, and get something a lot more solid. If he finds something that is actually genuine. “I think he left a message on your phone.”

I pull my cell out of my pocket and look. Sure enough, there’s a missed call from Hank, and a message waiting. I wonder how I missed it.

I dial the number for voicemail and put the phone to my ear.

“Hey Max,” Hank’s gravelly voice comes through, after the interminable entering of security codes, “I think I’m onto something. Don’t wanna go into it on the phone, but looks like I might be able to get ahold of a certain shirt, if you know what I mean. And I think it might be the real thing. Not sure how long it’s gonna take me, but I’ll keep you updated. Hope your hangover isn’t too bad. And Max?” There’s a pause, and then he yells into the phone, for several seconds, at top volume. The pain in my head explodes, and then I hear him chuckle to himself, and hang up.

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