The Butcher's Son by Dorien Grey

Author:Dorien Grey [Grey, Dorien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Untreed Reads
Published: 2015-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I awoke to the sound of the shower and glanced at my watch on the nightstand. It was six-forty-five. I lay there for a while thinking about the previous night. I wasn’t sure yet just what game Kevin thought he was playing, but I wanted to be sure he knew I was aware of it.

A few minutes after the shower turned off, Kevin entered the room, towel wrapped around his waist. Noticing I was awake, he gave me a smile and a cheerful “Good morning, Dick.”

“‘Morning, Kevin. Sleep well?”

“I only wish Sean slept as well. You?”

“Great,” I said, then added, “Have any trouble getting to sleep?”

Not a flicker of embarrassment or any other reaction as he removed shorts and socks from his suitcase and prepared to return to the bathroom.

“None at all,” he said nonchalantly. “I dropped right off as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

Uh-huh.

*

About five minutes after Kevin left to meet his father for breakfast and church, the phone rang. It was C.C., at his usual bubbly-good-mood best.

“Hardesty!”

“Good morning, Mr. Carlson,” I replied in my best lackey voice.

“You spent all yesterday sitting on your duff, and today it’s time you earned your keep. I want you in that meeting room from one o’clock on. You see anybody with a reporter’s badge, or carrying TV equipment, you bust your ass to find out if they need anything, and if they do, make sure they get it. Is that clear?”

“Of course.” I knew damned well he expected me to add a “Mr. Carlson” or “sir” but I wasn’t going to play along.

“The conference is at three-thirty. I want the coffee there by two-forty-five. Did you arrange for the coffee?”

“Last week. And rolls, as you told me at the time. And I checked with Guest Services when I got in yesterday. Everything is ready.”

“Well, you’d just better be damned sure it is!” And he hung up.

*

The press conference went without a hitch. The coffee was there, the rolls were there, the reporters were there—although considerably fewer than C.C. had apparently anticipated from the number of contacts we’d made and the amount of PR material I’d brought along. I was sure he’d blame me for not doing my job properly.

The chief’s speech had been scripted and rehearsed and polished until it glittered, and I tried very hard not to hear a single word of it. Whenever I did catch a sentence or two, it was the usual call for a new era in government with greatly expanded law enforcement powers to protect the citizenry from those who flaunt with impunity, etc., ad nauseam.

He even made it through the question period relatively unscathed. There were far fewer questions about the fire—partly because this was a statewide representation of the media, with, I believe, two reporters from the networks and a couple stringers for papers outside the state. A few of the questions alluded to the chief’s right-wing attitudes, but he had been prepared for them and managed to sidestep or obscure the answers in ambiguity.

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