Hell Hole by Chris Grabenstein

Author:Chris Grabenstein [Grabenstein, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural
ISBN: 9781429982764
Google: 1g52-kgHXNwC
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2008-01-01T11:00:00+00:00

24

“Hi! I’m Samantha Starky. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m Tonya Smith.”

“Jacquie.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you both. Sorry for your loss.”

So Starky found a parking spot. About a half-mile away. Down near the gas station.

“Did I miss much, sir?” she asks me.

“Well …”

“Officer Starky?” This from Ceepak. He’s squinting. Sees something off in the distance.

Okay. I see it too.

Two Sea Haven PD cop cars cruising down the exit lane off the Garden State Parkway. The one in front is our standard white Crown Vic police interceptor with the pink-and-turquoise stripes and lettering. Bringing up the rear is our one and only Ford Expedition.

The chief’s car.

“Could you kindly escort these two ladies inside?” Ceepak says to Starky.

“Ten-four, sir. Would you ladies like some coffee? Maybe a Coke or a yogurt shake? They’re awesome at TCBY … .”

The cop cars pull into the parking lot.

“Perhaps you ladies could discuss your beverage selection once inside the building?” Ceepak suggests.

“Roger,” says Starky. “Ladies?”

She leads Tonya and Jacquie Smith past the outdoor sunglasses carts and into the main building. They disappear into the sea of T-shirts and shorts. Hundreds of weary travelers, stretching their limbs, dislodging their undershorts, heading in to hit the johns and reload on fatty foods.

Since we don’t have a police car anymore, Chief Baines has trouble spotting us. He and the other SHPD vehicle cruise up and down the rows of shimmering sheet metal like last-minute shoppers hunting for a parking space at the mall on Christmas eve.

Ceepak waves both arms over his head.

The chief whoops his siren one bleep. The two cop cars crawl over toward the curb. We hold our positions on the concrete sidewalk.

The chief climbs down out of his SUV.

“John. Boyle.” He sort of nods and hikes up his neatly pressed pants. Per usual, Chief Buzz Baines is dressed in a starched white shirt and striped tie. His shield is clipped to his Brooks Brothers belt. I get beaned in the eyeball by a reflected sunbeam glinting off his gold badge.

The door on the Crown Vic opens. It’s Dylan Murray. He’s in uniform. Went with the shorts today because it’s a scorcher. Nobody gets out on the passenger side. Guess Murray’s flying solo this shift.

“Hey, Danny,” he says, pressing back on his sunglasses with an index finger. “Ceepak.”

“You two injured?” Chief Baines asks.

“Negative, sir,” says Ceepak. “It’s all good.”

“Except, of course, for your vehicle. I saw it. Back up the road. It didn’t look so good.”

“Roger that.”

“What’s going on, guys?”

“We’re investigating that burglary I told you about,” says Ceepak.

“The Feenyville Pirate thing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This where they broke into the dead man’s car?”

Ceepak points toward a lamppost about fifty cars away.

“Over there in that vicinity.”

The chief turns. Studies the towering pole. Turns to his left.

“Looks like there’s a surveillance camera mounted on that pole there. See it? Up in that black globe.”

Ceepak nods.

“Art Insana getting you the tapes?”

“He’s working on it.”

“I’ll give him a call. Tell him to work faster.” The chief now focuses fully on me. “So, Officer

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