Detective D. Case Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lincoln glanced off, seeing Big Hands was smiling;
they both knew what that meant. He growled but Big Hands kept on grinning. “We
searched the usual rooms and there’s nothing there.” Big Hands still grinned,
getting under Lincoln’s nerves. “Actually, I did find something.”
              A
big hand wiped off the big grin on Big Hands’ face. That was surely something
to laugh at.
              “What
did you find?” asked the chief.
              Lincoln’s
eyes went everywhere finding anything that could be labeled as evidence,
anything. The phone shook in his hands and he was afraid it might crash if he
wavered just a little. A second and his eyes matched a small Polaroid
photograph.
              “Deed,
you there?”
              “Uh-huh.
I found a picture of something . . . I’m trying to figure out what it is.” As
he spoke, Lincoln made his way across the room, reaching for the Polaroid. He
knew those white borders anywhere: the only camera he ever used was a Polaroid.
              “What
do you see?”
              “I
see . . .” With his other hand Lincoln tried to get a good light on the
picture. Next to him Big Hands did nothing but stare. “I see something like a
younger McDermott. It could be him, I don’t know, but it looks like a little
boy.” He turned to Big Hands, mouthing “Have you seen this before?” while he
tugged at the Polaroid. But Big Hands, despite his size and subliminal
superiority, shrugged. He never saw that photo before, Lincoln supposed. “Uh, a
schoolboy, perhaps . . . the uniform looks like a sailor suit . . . any
records?”
              “Records
of what, Deed?” the chief inquired. “A photo of a little boy won’t show up for
anything!”
              “I’m
not talking about the little boy, chief, I meant the photo as a piece of
evidence.”
              He
heard typing on the other end, but the chief did not speak. All he heard were
grunts and some finger tapping, but nothing else. It wasn’t until much later when
the chief finally returned to the line: “Nope, nothing about this photo from
any search from what I can see.”
              If
Lincoln could give the finger to Big Hands, he’d be glad to do it now if both
his hands weren’t busy with a photograph and a Polaroid. Maybe if he tucked the
photograph away . . . nah, he couldn’t make it without dropping the phone.
              “So,
what do you think, chief?”
              Chief
Advert grunted. “When the detective shows up, I want you to present the
photograph to him. He’ll know what to do.”
              “Gotcha.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
              Big
Hands snatched the phone before Lincoln gave it back. “Some kind of smart-ass,
are ya?” he teased.
              “Is
there a problem with something you could never find in five years?”
              “That’s
not a problem to me. You were there, too, when we searched in that dingy
apartment.”
              “I
was?” He forgot about that.
              “Yes,
you were. Not so smart about yourself, are you?”
              “C’mon,
you’re being a little exaggerated.”
            Big
Hands didn’t smile when he affirmed that he never exaggerated. He left with no
other words to give to Officer Lincoln Deed, leaving the door open. Typical of Big
Hands to have things done for others rather than do it himself; they might call
him careless, but he always gave it as a favor all the more. Not really stuck
inside this sardine-box room since there’s an open door--it was like Big Hands
to instead leave it to someone else--Lincoln needed to wait and keep busy. He
adored talking but with no one to talk to, it was a hard task. Well, he could
stare at meaningless things to pass the time. Oh, look, a lamp without a bulb
to brighten the room. It harnessed a total opposite