Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe. Nancy Bush

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      Chapter 7

      “Detective. Rafferty . . . ?”

      September was in the process of striding back through the station’s main entrance and past Guy Urlacher after taking Phillip Berelli back to his car. She gave Guy a long look, just daring him to ask for her ID.

      “Yes,” she said in a tone that warned him not to get in her way. It was like an uncontrollable obsession with him and though he contained himself with Gretchen most times as she would glare ice at him if he should even speak to her, he did not feel the same restraint when it came to September.

      This was the curse of being the newest detective on staff. No uniform. No name tag. Guy Urlacher didn’t know how to handle it.

      It was dark outside and she was tired. Too tired to deal with him in any professional way. She could feel the cloud over her head as she stepped around him with a dark scowl, then marched down the hall to the squad room.

      She overheard Gretchen saying to George as she entered, “The guys upstairs didn’t know what went down. They don’t leave unless they absolutely have to, apparently. Someone takes a lunch order for them and otherwise they’re just there.”

      “Who took the lunch order today?” George asked.

      “A guy named Rad. Yes, Rad. He went out about twelve, got back about one, and then went upstairs. The accountant, Berelli, has an office in one corner, and Rad got him something, too.”

      September already knew this as she and Gretchen had walked through the “control room” and spoke briefly to the nine or ten programmers. To a one they were slack-jawed with shock. Their world, apparently, was inside the games they developed, games that were rife with violence. But they were just games after all, and the programmers didn’t seem to know what to think about life and death events in the real world.

      Rad had insisted he was the only one who’d gone in and out of the upstairs door that day other than Berelli, and September was inclined to believe him. Backgrounds were being checked but on first glance it appeared none of the computer geeks was connected to the grisly massacre that had taken place on the first floor.

      Gretchen’s desk phone rang and she swiveled around to answer it, smashing the receiver to her ear. September, who, at a request from Gretchen, had stopped at a deli on the way back, plopped the brown bag on Gretchen’s desk. Gretchen was tapping her fingers and staring up at the ceiling, clearly irked at some delay on the other end as September pulled out tuna fish sandwiches for herself and her partner.

      George said, “Nothing for me?”

      “You gotta put in an order,” September said.

      “Tuna,” he said, spying the sandwich and wrinkling his nose. He made a sound of disgust and turned back to his work.

      “Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t know!” Gretchen snarled into the phone and crashed the receiver into its cradle. She picked up half of her sandwich and waved it at September. “Everybody’s an asshole,” she declared, before taking a bite.

      “Everybody?”

      “Everybody,” she stated firmly.

      “What was that about?”

      “The lab. Nobody can get jack shit done unless it’s an act of Congress.”

      They munched on their sandwiches and Gretchen washed hers down with cold coffee. September got up, walked into the hallway and to the water cooler and poured herself a small paper cupful. She returned just as Gretchen demanded, “Where’s this Olivia Dugan person?”

      George spoke up, “D’Annibal sent someone to find her. Wes, maybe.”

      “Why hasn’t she called us?” Gretchen asked. “She should have called us by now.”

      September shrugged. “Maybe she’s scared? Maybe she still doesn’t know we’re looking for her.”

      “She’d have to live on another planet not to know, with all the press that’s come down. And she should know to wait for the police. Where’d she go after she left Zuma?”

      September shook her head. No one had that information.

      “Did you get through to the de Fores?” Gretchen asked George, who’d been tasked with finding the man’s family.

      “Finally,” he said, exhaling heavily. “Mom and Dad live in Medford and are flying up, so they’ll be here in an hour or so. You gonna be at the morgue when they arrive?” he asked Gretchen.

      She grimaced. “Yeah.” She turned to September. “How’d you do with Upjohn’s ex?”

      “I talked to Camille on the phone. Camille Dirkus. She was at the hospital earlier, maybe still is,” September answered. “She took back her maiden name, but Aaron was their son together. Camille’s beside herself about Aaron’s death, and I don’t know . . . I think if Kurt Upjohn lives she could actually try to kill him.” She was half-serious.

      George said, “Hmmm.”

      “She blames him?” Gretchen asked. At September’s nod, she said, “We’ll go see her tomorrow.”

      “What about the receptionist? Maltona?” George asked.

      “Maltona doesn’t appear to have anyone but the boyfriend, a Jason Jaffe who’s an artist of some kind,” Gretchen said in a tone that suggested what she thought of artists in general. “I started leaving messages on Jaffe’s cell phone this afternoon and he’s texted me back stuff like ‘ok’ and ‘at hospital.’ СКАЧАТЬ