Bay of Deception Read Online Free PDF Page B

the street and seconds later two of them screeched to a halt beside his cruiser.  He popped his head out and saw Willy Johnson, Pacific Grove’s only black police officer push his door open and bring his barrel-chested frame to a quick crouch behind it.  The other car, just out of sight produced matching sounds.  Oliver forced himself to wait until they responded. 
    “THIS IS THE POLICE!  PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN AND STEP OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEADS!”               
    Willie’s amplified and thus tinny voice boomed up to the house and back across the neighborhood.  He waited until the echoes died before calling out.
    “Willie! This is Oliver Piedmont!”  Resisting the urge to step out the door, Oliver waited for a response.  An exemplary cop, Willie remained behind his own door until he could make visual identification. 
    “Ollie, you know the drill...step out with your hands in the air.”
    Oliver flicked the safety back on, then placed his weapon onto the tiled entryway.  Inter-lacing his fingers atop his head, Oliver slowly stepped into the doorway and carefully walked down the wooden stairs, keeping both hands above his head until the two cops could recognize him. 
    “Jesus Christ Almighty...” called out a voice as he reached the sidewalk. “You can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” 
    Oliver turned to see John Collinson come out from behind the unseen cruiser and holster his weapon.  Oliver smiled through gritted teeth, but turned toward the other car. 
    “Willie,” he called.  “Have PG base put out an APB for a sky blue Mercedes, older model maybe 2009 or '10.” Scrunching his eyes, Oliver searched his memory for some identifying mark from that one backward glance.  Opening his eyes, he snapped his fingers.  “Back right tire missing a cover.  Suspects should be approached with extreme caution and are armed and dangerous.”  Willie ducked back inside his squad car and began to speak, his lips moving silently through the windshield into the microphone. 
    “Come on, Collinson,’ Oliver motioned for his friend to follow but stopped when Collinson whistled high and long.  He tried to turn back around but felt two fingers press through two bullet holes in his ruined jacket and into his flak vest.
    “Looks like you need a tailor, Ollie.” Collinson said. 
    Ollie stepped free of the two fingers scraping the flack vest and strode up the walkway.
    “Couple of patches will do wonders, John...besides, it’s a trend now.”  Oliver smiled without turning back, aware Collinson was a hopeless fashion follower and often looked more like he stepped out of GQ than a small town detective. 
    Collinson let out another piercing whistle behind him as he passed through the bullet decorated entranceway and into the residence.  Oliver halted, picked up his gun from off the tile foyer, then proceeded down the down the hall. 
    “Jenny, come on out!” Oliver called a moment later.  “The cavalries arrived!”
    A squeaking door hinge answered, followed a few seconds later by an ashen-faced Jenny McKenny. 
    “Are you okay, ma’am?” Collinson asked as Oliver pulled his coat off and gathered it around her shoulders.  She nodded absently, her eyes just out of focus.  After mouthing, ‘Shock’ to Collinson, Oliver led her out into the afternoon sunlight. 
    As if stepping from a police poster, Willie Johnson’s square-jawed visage greeted them at Oliver’s cruiser and with a polite nod toward Jenny, opened the passenger door before he walked back to join Collinson by his own vehicle. 
    Oliver kneeled down beside her as she settled into the seat, then rolled the window down before gently closing the door with hardly a sound.
    “I need to take you down to the station to make a statement.”  He smiled into her upturned face.  “But first I’d like to brief the others, if that’s okay with you?”
    A few seconds passed before his words seemed to register.  “Uh,