The Second Mouse by Archer Mayor

Author:Archer Mayor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Police Procedural, Police, Police - Vermont, Mystery & Detective, Gunther, Vermont, Fiction, Mystery fiction, General, Joe (Fictitious character), FIC022000
ISBN: 9780892960729
Publisher: Mysterious Press
Published: 2006-10-19T07:01:01+00:00

Chapter 11

Joe Gunther followed the receptionist across the very room imagined in most visions of bureaucratic hell: huge, no windows, an oppressively low acoustic ceiling, and rows of harsh fluorescent lighting, inhabited by people nestled in tiny chest-high cubicles. It made Joe think of refugees crowded into a sports arena, their identities reduced to a cot in the middle of the floor. In that light, the decorations in the work spaces he passed—family pictures, flowers, posters portraying Hawaii—became life preservers.

The receptionist reached the far wall and stood aside at an open door labeled “Director,” beyond which a second woman sat at a desk near yet another door.

“Mr. Gunther for Director Freeman,” she intoned before giving Joe a quick smile and disappearing.

Joe didn’t look back, passing instead into the anteroom and smiling at the new factotum. “He’s expecting me,” he told her, repeating what he’d said to the first one.

She looked vaguely irritated as she rose and moved to the inner door. “Of course.”

She mimicked her predecessor’s motions, twisting the knob and stepping back with a small flourish, announcing him to the person inside. For a split second, he saw this happening eight times in a row, with eight women each going through the same motions, and with him suddenly standing back out on the street.

But there were no more doors ahead. Just a man rising from his desk with the smoothness of a limousine leaving the curb, circling around to shake hands and point out which chair to occupy, as his secretary faded away.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Floyd Freeman asked, staying out in front of the large desk and taking the companion guest chair. Very polished, in fact literally—Joe noticed he had manicured fingernails. “It’s not often the state’s top cop drops by.” Freeman laughed and concluded, “I hope I’m not in any trouble.”

Gunther had considered this moment, even anticipated some of the language. But instead of responding as he’d thought he might, he merely extracted a small tape player from his pocket and laid it on his knee.

Without a word spoken, he pushed the Play button.

Beverly Hillstrom’s precise voice entered the quiet room. She was speaking on a phone in the middle of an ongoing conversation.

“I realize that we’ve had our professional differences, Mr. Freeman. And I’m sorry to say that it appears we’ve had our personal ones, too, dating back to the death of your au pair, Ellen Turnley . . .”

Freeman slid forward in his chair, but was stopped in midreach for the recorder by the fierceness of Gunther’s glare. “What is this?” he asked instead, his eyes narrowed, as Joe hit the Pause button.

“It’s something I’d like you to hear.”

“That was a private conversation,” he said. “I doubt this is even legal.”

“That’s an interesting place to go,” Joe answered him. “Before we do, though—and we will—I’m hoping you’ll humor me.”

Freeman hesitated, his imagination snagged on Joe’s possible meaning. Finally, he slid back and made a show of crossing his tailored legs casually. “Fine,” he said.

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