The Flats: a Liz Boyle Mystery, #1 by Kate Birdsall

Author:Kate Birdsall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing
Published: 2017-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Beating everyone to Sean Miller’s house isn’t exactly “doing paperwork,” but if this lead breaks open the case, Fishner won’t be too upset. Then again, it might give her serious ideas about chaining me to the desk. That’s a risk I’ll have to take, though, because there’s no way she’ll let me go get him, not with my brother involved in this.

I pluck my jacket from the back of my chair. “I’m gonna go grab a bite to eat,” I tell Roberts. He just nods without looking up from his screen.

In the car, all I can think about is Christopher. Someone—Sean Miller?—murdered a little kid then cut off his fucking hand. That’s brutal. Christopher may even be connected to the person who did it. Could Christopher have killed that boy? No. There’s no way. I mean, anyone could be pushed into violence with the right motivation. But not many people could be pushed into murdering a kid, and even fewer into cutting off the child’s hand. My brother is not one of those people.

As I’m turning onto Chester, Fishner calls. I don’t answer, and she doesn’t leave a message.

It takes me about half an hour to get to Sean Miller’s house, one of those nondescript one-story jobbies that’s mixed in with bigger houses in a modest neighborhood. I roll past it slowly but keep going up the block in case he’s home and paranoid. At the stop sign, I turn the Charger around and park across the street, about a hundred feet from his front sidewalk. The white paint is peeling, and the front flower beds have become weed patches. Everything is dead, still waiting for spring. The white Chevy pickup that was there before is parked in front of his garage. The boarded-up house on the left looks abandoned. Fishner calls again, and I ignore it again, but she still doesn’t leave a message.

I have to wait for the warrant. But I’ll already be here, so I might as well help with the search. As long as I don’t answer my phone when Fishner calls, I won’t have to lie to her. I’m not being completely disobedient.

I don’t know how quickly Becker can get a warrant for Miller’s place. It depends on the judge and could take anywhere from a couple of hours to all day. Fishner most likely has Goran finishing up with Christopher and doing the warrant paperwork. Our signed affidavit will state that we have evidence that might lead to other evidence, and Becker will take it before a judge and ask for the warrant. She’ll need to convince the judge that we have enough for the warrant. Judges are serious about that pesky Constitution and its irksome Fourth Amendment.

After about forty-five minutes, I start to get antsy, so I take a risk and get out of the car. It’s stupid, but I don’t care because my brother’s ass is on the line here. I stroll toward the house, pretending to be out for a walk.

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