Time to Steal: Part Three by John Gilstrap

Author:John Gilstrap [Gilstrap, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Literature & Fiction, Thrillers
Amazon: B0138NHD32
Publisher: Lyrical Underground
Published: 2016-04-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Carter didn’t even slow his stride as he showed his badge to the cop out front and ducked under the crime-scene tape. The name tag over the deputy’s pocket read Ryan, and he seemed to be pissed that he’d drawn guard duty.

“Whoa,” Ryan said. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m with the district attorney’s office,” he said.

The deputy scowled and took a closer look at the badge. “That says you’re from New York.”

Carter didn’t argue. “That’s right. My daughter was allegedly involved in this crime, and I understand that you people think she killed someone.” On the other side of the door, Carter could just barely make out the sounds of an ongoing argument.

“What’s your name?”

“Carter Janssen. I’m Nicolette Janssen’s father.” In his first stroke of positive luck, Carter had been only thirty-five minutes away when he’d gotten the call from Michaels.

“I see.” Jackson Ryan looked at the identification wallet one more time, as if to assure himself that he was talking to the right guy. “You’ll need to speak with Sheriff Hines.”

“I’d love to. Is that him there?” He nodded to the thickset man in the khaki uniform.

“Yes, but he’s busy.”

“Don’t you think he’d want to talk to me?”

Deputy Ryan considered that. “Wait here.”

“Thank you.”

The deputy walked through the front doors. Carter followed two steps behind.

The old man locked in verbal combat with the sheriff looked like hell, red-faced and madder than a hornet. His left eye was black and swollen. Spittle flew from the old man’s mouth as he spoke. “I swear to God, Frank, if you accuse me of being senile one more time, I’m gonna punch you in the nose.”

Sheriff Hines seemed amused as he held out his palms to ward off the old man’s attack. “I’m not saying you’re senile, Ben. I’m saying you’re drunk.”

“And I’m telling you there was a tape in that machine this morning!”

“Okay, then. What happened to it?”

“I don’t know!”

Another uniformed officer, this one a woman in her twenties who hadn’t quite found the right combination of macho and feminine to really be attractive, joined the conversation. “Mr. Maestri,” she said.

The old man turned away from the sheriff to face the deputy.

“Is it possible that the robbers went back there and took the tape?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I’d have seen that. The only person who could’ve taken the tape is the sheriff here.”

Behind the old man, a team of four uniformed cops sifted through debris and photographed the scene. They all stopped working at Ben Maestri’s comment and looked up, clearly expecting an emotional show from the sheriff. Carter thought he saw the cop’s back stiffen, but otherwise, he seemed to take it in stride.

Carter asked, “Is there a back door?”

All eyes turned toward the newcomer. “Who the hell is this?” the sheriff demanded.

Deputy Ryan jumped a little. “Oh. Uh, excuse me, sheriff, but this man here says that he’s the father of one of the perpetrators.”

“Alleged perpetrators,” Carter corrected. “There’s no way she did any of this.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“I can speak for myself,” Carter said.

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