Double Blind Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the chair where it always hung, and headed out the door.
    The old wooden stairs, which ran down the side of the building, creaked in protest as he descended them. The acrid aroma of smoldering wood from the fireplaces of nearby homes, a smell he never tired of, hung in the crisp night air. Stepping off the last step, he took a deep breath to clear his fuzzy brain and headed across the department’s front lawn and down the street toward Varney’s. A half block later, he came to a white Jeep with a roof mounted light bar and black and gold door decals that read: “Mercer’s Corner Sheriff’s Department.” Curious.
    Looking across the street toward Varney’s, he saw an interior light shinning through the front windows. “Lloyd never leaves lights on,” he muttered to himself.
    Then, he saw the nose of Lloyd’s pick-up, parked at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Main, and walked toward it. Lloyd wasn’t there, but a cup of coffee sat on the dashboard. A half empty box of .38 shells and a nearly empty pint of Jack Daniel's lay on the passenger’s seat. He exhaled loudly and shook his head.
    As he crossed Main Street and approached Varney’s, the light that spilled through the front windows flickered, shadows dancing on the glass. Someone was inside. Probably Lloyd.
    He peered through the window, didn’t see anyone, but noticed the side door stood open. He headed around the building.
    *
    After Sam searched the dark nooks and crannies of the store and found no one, she returned to the body. Squatting, she reached out and touched the man’s wrist, checking for the pulse she knew wouldn’t be present. His dilated black pupils had already told her the story. His skin was warm. Several long strands of dark hair lay in his open palm. 
    “Now will you call the damn police, Samantha?” she said aloud.
    She started to rise, but heard something and dropped back to one knee, senses on edge. A scrapping sound, footsteps, just outside the open door. The killer? Had he returned to eliminate the witness?
    A shadow moved across her and she heard the distinct sound of shoes against the hardwood floor. Whoever it was, was inside now.
    Gripping her Smith and Wesson, ignoring the pain in her battered knuckles, she popped up to a standing position and leveled the .357 at the backlit shadow before her.
    “Freeze!” she shouted. “Police.”
    The intruder stopped. He was much shorter than the man who had run over her. And possessed narrower shoulders and a broader midsection. Accomplice? Even in the dim light, she could see the look of surprise on his face. She could also see the gun that appeared in his right hand.
    “Drop the piece,” Sam commanded. “Now!”
    “What the hell...”
    “I said now. Drop it.”
    “I’m the Chief of Police, Goddamn it,” he said.
    Confusion swept through her. “Police? What’s your name?”
    “Wade.”
    That fit. That was the name on the sign in front of the police department. She noticed he not only hadn’t dropped the gun, but also had pointed it in her direction.
    He took a step toward her. “Now, why don’t you put that thing down and tell me who the hell you are and what you’re doing here,” he said.
    “Show me a badge,” Sam said.
    “Don’t have it on me. Never wear it. Everybody knows who I am.”
    That made sense, too. In a town this size, everyone would know the police chief.
    “I’ll ask again,” he continued. “Who are you?”
    “Sam Cody. Sheriff’s Deputy from California.”
    “That your rig up the street?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Long way from home aren’t you?”
    Sam felt increasingly uncomfortable pointing a gun at who was apparently the Chief of Police and even more uncomfortable staring down the barrel of his gun. “OK,” she said. “I’ve got my badge in my pocket.”
    “Let’s see it.”
    She pulled out her badge wallet, flipped it open, and held it out toward him. He glanced at it and then lowered his gun. Sam stuffed her .357 back into its