Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

still lit, the neon shape of a coffee cup flickering white against the inky sky, an exact opposite of what the name meant, black, in the language of the Native peoples of the Pomo tribe. The chimney let out smoke and vapor right behind the sign, making it appear as if the coffee in the neon cup was steaming, the symbol strong and inviting, a touch of marketing genius.

There were still a few cars in the parking lot, a little surprising at the time, being it was after seven on a weekday in November, when summer tourists were gone, and winter season hadn’t started yet.

Kay pulled into the parking lot and came to an abrupt stop, grinding rubber against loose gravel. Sheriff Logan’s SUV was parked closer to the dark and empty patio. His back toward her, he was leaning against the hood, his bomber jacket zipped all the way up to his chin, and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Either he hadn’t heard her pull in or he was pretending to ignore her while she closed the distance between them. Regardless, she did it almost running, eager to get their meeting over and done with.

Out of breath, she stopped by his side. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I understand this is not the usual—”

“Cut the bull, Dr. Sharp, my wife’s waiting for me with veal roast in the oven.” He’d taken out a cigar and lit it, pedantically slow in his movements, obsessive about his ritual.

“It’s about the Rose Harrelson kidnapping case,” Kay blurted, still out of breath, although she’d barely sprinted 25 yards. It had been a long day, and she’d been keeping it going on coffee and croissants.

He exhaled, surrounding himself with a cloud of thick smoke that lingered for a moment like a halo before dissipating in the biting wind. “I thought you were working the Caldwell murder. What about the Harrelson case?”

Opening the file to the second page of the missing person report, she tapped her finger on the page. “It was assigned to a Detective Herbert Scott.”

“Ah,” Logan reacted, a frown quickly furrowing his brow. “I see. And your question is?”

Kay studied his face for a brief moment. His eyes held her gaze unperturbed, his features were relaxed, except for the frown still carving horizontal ridges on his brow. The corners of his mouth were a little stiff when he wasn’t sucking smoke from that cigar.

“There’s a Deputy Scott on your staff, and no detective with that name. Is he—”

“The same guy,” he replied, smoke swirling on his breath as he said the words. “But you knew this already,” he added, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Otherwise, I’d be eating my wife’s roast at this time instead of freezing my buns here with you.”

She looked away for a moment, then back at him. He was smiling.

“Why am I here, Dr. Sharp?”

She almost invited him to call her Kay, like everyone else did, but decided to do that on some other occasion.

“I hate to do this, but I have to ask you, what happened? How did he end up a deputy, after having been a detective?”

He scoffed, then chuckled lightly, and took another long drag from the cigar before answering. “The right question should be, after you read that file, how come Deputy Scott is still on my force? How come he wasn’t fired for the incredibly sloppy work he’d done?”

She nodded, raising the collar of her jacket and zipping it all the way up. The wind wrapped cold fingers around her neck, sending shivers all over her body and fueling the tension that locked her shoulders in a painful cramp.

“Thanks for putting it delicately, Dr. Sharp,” he continued, his words carried out on a smoke-loaded sigh. “Just between the two of us, like you intended when you called me out here, it took significant bad performance on the job to present Scott with his choices. Either resign, or be dropped to deputy, but keep his pension if he pulled the whole twenty, without shooting himself in the foot and without killing somebody.”

“Anything standing out, performance-wise?” she asked. She was following her gut, thinking there had to be more about Scott’s actions than just indifference and indolence.

Exhaling slowly, he switched the cigar from one hand to another, blowing warm smoke into his palms. “To put it mildly, he was derelict in his duties, not motivated to close cases, while at the same time, prone to violent behavior, often times roughing suspects up, threatening witnesses. He cut corners and did a sloppy job with everything.” He muttered an oath she didn’t catch. “He’s a piece of work, that one. Complaints were pouring in from all directions; missing evidence, badly typed forms, wrongly filed records, witnesses bullied and insulted, you name it. Now all he does is traffic stops, and even that he manages to screw up occasionally.”

Kay shifted her weight from one foot to the other, dreading the question she had to ask, although she believed she knew the answer.

“Are you friends with him outside of work?”

“What?” he asked, looking at her intently, while a fresh furrow developed on his brow, putting a deep V at the root of his nose.

“You know, drinks with the team, hanging out at the Hilltop, stuff like that.”

“Me? With that guy? Hell, no.” He arranged the collar of his jacket as if to restore his bruised dignity. “I’m surprised you had to ask, to be honest.” He coughed in his elbow, then said in a low voice. “Listen, if it weren’t for the unions, the guy would’ve been long gone. Now, can I go home and warm my bones?”

He turned to leave, but she grabbed his elbow, stopping him. “Not yet, I’m sorry. But I’ll make it quick.” She filled her lungs with the cold air sprinkled with remnants of cigar smoke. “Currently, I’m also on an assignment from the FBI.”

His gaze turned into a bit of a glare. “Why, gee, Dr. Sharp, thanks