Tempest Court. Jan Walters
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Название: Tempest Court
Автор: Jan Walters
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
isbn: 9781646540242
isbn:
“I’m only going to take a minute so the captain can finish with his announcements. I want to remind everyone to wear your body cameras. There have been a couple of instances lately where someone forgot.” Anders glared at the room full of officers. “When I get complaints, I have to come down here to talk to all of you. Also, watch your language and keep the F word to a minimum. Trust me, you all don’t want me to come back and talk about the damn cameras.”
Anders stepped aside and headed toward the doorway.
Donnellson elbowed Brett and whispered, “Yeah, I can see it now. When we’re arresting a robbery suspect with a gun, instead of saying ‘Get the fuck on the ground,’ we’ll say ‘Sir, please cooperate and lie on the ground.’”
Brett glanced up and grimaced. Anders stood behind Donnellson. Brett turned and noticed that the chief’s face had turned a deep shade of red. Oh shit!
“Donnellson. My office now.”
Donnellson’s eyes widened as he jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir.”
Brett’s friend hurried from the room, heading for the door. Brett wished he was anywhere but here. Awkward.
With hands on his hips, Anders stared down at Brett. “Do you have anything to add to the conversation?”
“Nope.”
“Good choice. Walk with me for a minute.”
They shuffled in choreographed motion to the doorway. Brett followed suit, but Anders stopped him near the elevator, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Glad to see you survived the camel ride,” Anders mumbled. “I ran into your mom at the grocery store. She filled me in on your itinerary.”
“Yeah, it was quite the experience.”
Inside the elevator, Brett studied the aging chief who was now in his early fifties, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed to the side. The barrel-chested chief let out a deep breath. The guy looked like he carried the weight of the city on his shoulders.
“Anything going on?” Brett wondered what Anders wanted.
Anders shook his head. “We haven’t visited much since the vampire case.”
Brett groaned. “Don’t remind me. Between you and me, we’re getting a collection of battle scars.”
Anders patted Brett on the shoulder. “And that’s why I’m glad you took some time off.”
“If Lisa had her way, I’d be taking more time off.”
“Caroline is always complaining I don’t take enough time off.”
“Your wife is a smart lady.”
The elevator door opened. “It was nice catching up.” Anders smiled. “Oh, before I forget, you need to hit the firing range and get certified.”
“Will do. Nice seeing you, Chief.”
Brett smiled and leaned back against the wall of the elevator. It felt good to be back at work. He was anxious to get to his office and start working. For once in his career, there were no big cases, no serial killers. No weird things were going on, though he was still bothered by Hassan’s actions and the rug. He was letting his imagination run wild again. Maybe Lisa was right. He seemed to anticipate danger where there wasn’t any.
He’d never see Hassan again, so he needed to let it go. The strange events that went on in Morocco were in the past. He simply needed to let it go.
Chapter 4
Michael O’Shea’s shimmering figure materialized in Brett’s kitchen. Michael glanced around the room. He opened the refrigerator door. Yep, it was full. Brett and Lisa had returned from their vacation. He glanced at the clock. The pair were due home from work anytime.
He sauntered into the family room, claiming Brett’s favorite recliner, which overlooked the neighborhood—a quiet residential area on the south side of Des Moines. The Southside was a blend of ethnic groups, including a large Italian population and mom-and-pop restaurants.
Unfortunately, rules that pertained to ghosts were restrictive. Michael couldn’t eat or drink. Thinking of the beer in the fridge, Michael groaned. He’d give anything to taste an ice-cold beer again. A rumble of thunder shook him from his reverie. “Just joking,” Michael mumbled. He glanced out the window, almost expecting a bolt of lightning to hit the front yard. Why do ghosts have to follow rules? He leaned back in a chair.
After the last case he and Brett worked, Michael was called in for “reconditioning.” “Reconditioning, hell,” he muttered. It was more like an ass-chewing. He didn’t follow orders very well. He was supposed to stay invisible, except when necessary. He wasn’t supposed to scare people. Michael sighed. He disliked rules, always had. They were so confining and slowed the investigative process. When the job needed to get done, he was the type of man—no, ghost—who cut to the chase.
He rose to his feet and looked out the large window. Tossing his black fedora on the nearby table, he ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair. He flicked on the TV, quickly changing channels. He smiled to himself; Michael loved watching commercials. They provided fodder so that he could irritate Brett.
It wasn’t long before Michael became bored. He wished Brett was here. Michael missed the kid. The two of them appeared to be about the same age because Michael was murdered in 1933 when he was barely in his thirties. Killed in the prime of his life, Michael never got to experience the grandparent thing. Being a grandparent made him protective of Brett, not that Brett needed or wanted his protection. Michael chuckled to himself. “And that’s just part of the fun.” He enjoyed teasing Brett, much to the dismay of the younger detective.
Michael strolled down the hallway to the bedrooms. He spotted Lisa’s clothes strewn about Brett’s bedroom. He turned to leave the bedroom when the front doorbell rang.
Curious, he peered out the window. A brown paper package sat on the porch. He glanced at the return address. Morocco? As he turned away from the door, he heard an odd noise, like a vibration. He tilted his head and listened. Where was the sound coming from? He walked toward the bedroom. It sounded like an alarm clock. Not that he knew anything about the newfangled clocks.
He stopped in the middle of Brett’s bedroom, no longer hearing the strange vibe. Lisa’s revealing underclothes littered the floor. His eyes widened. Damn! Women wear those skimpy things?
The sound of a door closing drew his attention. He stiffened as footsteps in the hallway drew closer. Who was coming? Shifting into a gray mist, he leaned against the bedroom wall and waited. Minutes later, Brett entered the room.
“You scared me to death,” Michael announced as his body materialized.
Brett swung around with his gun in hand, aiming it at Michael’s chest. Once he registered who was in the room with him, Brett’s arm fell to his side.
“Damn it! You could have said something before now.” Brett surveyed the room. His brow inched upward. “Are you snooping around my bedroom?”
Michael СКАЧАТЬ