Inspector Specter by E.J. Copperman

Author:E.J. Copperman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

“Martin Ferry was a world-class pain in the ass,” said Captain Charles Stella of the Seaside Heights Police Department. I had been anticipating such a response on the thirty-five-minute drive here, so I didn’t blink. “But he wasn’t bad at what he did, and he was an irritant, not a threat. Nobody wanted to kill him. It was an accident.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. “What did the crime scene team report?”

“Crime scene team? What do you think this is, CSI? We sent over a detective because it was one of our own, but under most circumstances, the uniforms who answered the call would have been able to close the case.” Stella was not an imposing physical specimen—I doubt he stood five feet seven—but he was solidly built and had a very authoritative voice.

I wanted to cower in intimidation and thank him for his time, but I had an agenda. “Were you here when Detective Ferry was working with Detective McElone?” I asked.

“No, she was gone before I got here,” Stella answered, leaning forward on his desk and looking as attentive as he could. “But I met her two days ago, when she came by to ask me all the same questions you’re asking now and suggest that somebody killed Ferry. Nobody killed Ferry. His gun went off when he was putting it away, and he got unlucky. There’s no two ways around it.”

“What’s the evidence?” I said. “I’ve been to his apartment and seen the place, but I don’t understand how the gun got out of his desk and shot him by accident.”

Oliver, asleep in his stroller, wasn’t helping me look terrifically tough, but I wasn’t going to be all that scary even without him. Stella looked at Ollie a second because babies are interesting to look at, then regarded me with somewhat less indulgent eyes.

“What makes you think the gun was ever in Ferry’s desk?” he asked. “Your Lieutenant McElone said the same thing. The gun was out, lying on the floor not far from his right hand. The desk drawer was open and the key was in the lock. So you tell me why you think someone came in and shot Ferry when he obviously was going through his routine, and maybe forgot there was a round in the chamber?”

“I’m not suggesting I know your job,” I told Stella. “I’m not a police officer, and I’m only a part-time PI. So maybe you can explain to me—for the purpose of my own education—how the key dangling from the lock tells you he was putting the gun away. Doesn’t it suggest that Ferry had put the gun away and then he . . . or someone . . . had unlocked the drawer to get it out again?”

Stella looked disgusted. “Because, as a ‘PI’”—you could hear the quote marks in his voice—“no doubt you know that a key is used to open a drawer before you put something in it if it was locked before.”

“It’s also used to lock the drawer after you take something out,” I said.

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