A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

and not even two hours after that, two suits from Seattle show up, looking for that same file.”

“What did you do?” Joe asked, because two suits from Seattle meant only one thing -- high-level attorneys.

“Played dumb, of course, like you wanted me to,” Stiversen said.  “But I got to tell you, I’m not anxious to get my neck stuck in a noose here.”

“That’s not going to happen, Arnie,” Joe promised.  “You have my word on it.”

“Yeah, well, I hope so,” the police officer said, relieved because he knew Joe Gideon was as good as his word.

“Meet me tonight, around six, at The Last Call,” Joe added, because he now knew more than he had before.  “And I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

The location of the meet told the police officer two things -- that the file he had buried was somehow connected to the Lightfoot case, which he had already assumed, and that Joe Gideon wanted to tell him something he didn’t want anyone else on the force to know about -- something Arnie Stiversen wasn’t sure he wanted to know about, either.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh.

At the same time that Arnie Stiversen was getting ready to meet with Joe Gideon, Roy Flynn and Teri Coello were sitting in Kent McAllister’s office, reporting on the interviews that had taken up the better part of their Friday.

“If that bomb came out of one of those planes, it sure was a surprise to everyone we talked to,” Flynn said.

“Is that a surprise to you?” McAllister asked.

“No, of course not,” Coello said.  “We’re just trying to tell you we basically drew a blank.  Let’s face it, no one’s going to jump up and admit they just happened to drop a pipe bomb on two unsuspecting women.”

“Do you think it could be unrelated, someone out of another airport, another county, maybe just a holiday prank?” the chief inquired.

“Anything’s possible,” Flynn said.  “But my money’s on a local.”

“Mine, too,” Coello said.  “I don’t think this was any freak prank.”

“Based on what?”

“Gut instinct, I guess,” Flynn said, and Coello nodded.  “I think this was personal.  I think it was intentional.  People around here know Lily is defending Lightfoot.  No one out of county gives a damn what goes on here.  All that hate mail she got, those other run-ins she had.  The idea that someone else just happened to fly into Jackson County, and just happened to drop a pipe bomb on a remote cottage in the foothills where she just happened to be spending the weekend?  No, I’m pretty sure this was about Lightfoot, and it was personal.”

“I agree,” Coello declared.

“Well, that may be,” McAllister conceded, “but what can we do about it?  You say you talked to everyone, and you got nowhere.  And you’ve got no real evidence on anyone.”

“We’d like to maybe take a look at some of the old cases,” Flynn told him.  “Cases that might have involved Lily or the Jansens, or maybe had to do with some kind of racial issues.”

“Why would you want to do that?” McAllister asked sharply.

“To see what’s there,” Flynn replied.  “To see if there are any dots we can maybe connect.  This just doesn’t come across like an isolated incident to us.”

“Sounds like a big waste of time to me,” the chief said.

“Would you rather that we dropped it?” Coello asked.

“On the chance that it’s slipped your mind, we’re a detective down and we’ve got a few other cases to work,” McAllister reminded her.  “I’d rather you put your time into something that might get us some results.”  He paused for a moment, and then added:  “Do we have anything else we can look at on this, any other direction we can go in, other than the past?”

“Well, we have the bomb,” Flynn said.  “The lab boys have been taking a look at it.  Maybe they can come up with something -- a signature maybe, that might tell us who made it.”

“Okay, I suppose you can follow up on that,” the chief said, rising, signaling that the discussion was at an end.  “But keep me in the loop.”

“Did that just strike you as a little weird?” Teri Coello asked her partner as they left McAllister’s office and headed downstairs.

“What -- that the chief wasn’t all that interested in our spending a lot more time on this case?”

“When you put it that way,” she said, “yeah.”  They had worked as a team long enough that the two detectives tended to see things in a pretty similar way.

“Well, you got to remember that he’s political, and we’re not,” Flynn told her.  “And maybe sometimes, that means he has to look at things from a different perspective.”

. . .             

The Last Call Bar and Grill was enjoying what was a pretty normal Friday evening for the summer boating season -- the place was crowded and boisterous.  As Arnie Stiversen made his way in, he met up with the owner, Billy Fugate.

              “Evening, Officer,” the barkeeper said.  “Your friend’s over there, waiting for you.”

He pointed to a small table near the far wall, where the private investigator was indeed seated.

“Thanks,” the Stiversen said.

“I really appreciate your coming,” Joe said, pulling out the chair beside him.

“Like I had a choice,” Stiversen said.

Joe had a pitcher of beer and two glasses in front of him.  “Want some?” he asked.

“What kind?” Stiversen countered.

Joe shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “It’s whatever’s on tap.”

“Sure,” Stiversen said, and watched as his friend poured for both of them.

“Before I get into anything,” the private investigator began, “I need you to tell me something -- something that stays just between you and me -- is there anyone in the department you wouldn’t trust with your life?”

Stiversen stared at him.  “You kidding?” he said.  “How could I do the work I do, if I didn’t trust the other people working with me?  You worked there for twenty-five years, for Pete’s sake -- what did you think?  Did you think there was anyone you couldn’t trust?”

“Well, let