Final Grave Read Online Free PDF Page A

enjoyed his discomfort, a sort of God-Got-You comeuppance for his defensive comeback and his obvious night of drinking. “I handled a few interviews,” he said in a penitent tone. “I was only a rookie.”
    “The cold case was your file.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Mendiola shifted his broad shoulders self-consciously. He hadn’t meant to sound like a jerk. Years ago, his older brother went MIA in Kuwait. He knew about loss and the emptiness that comes from waiting.
    “I’m not saying you did anything wrong. You’re good, Jack, a damn good detective. But a hot-headed Basque, with an attitude that sucks.”
    He’d already ‘fessed up to poor attitude three minutes ago in the stairwell. “Careful, Lieutenant. Racial slurs are a no-no.”
    “Get off it. You’re only half Basque.”
    “True.” Though he’d inherited his dad’s dark burly looks, his mom came from a long line of red-headed Hamiltons.
    “You and your shit-eating grins. Don’t treat me like one of your groupies. I mean it. If you play games with me, you’re off this case. Neles can handle it.”
    Interesting. According to every breathing soul in the sheriff’s office, Neles loved to get into her pants. Honorable Neles wanted to marry Dillon, but she’d put him off until her youngest kid graduated high school. Neles had five more years to slip in and out of her bed, five more years of secret fucks, and pretending nobody knew.
    Jack rose from his chair. “Okay, Neles, then. Why not give it to him in the first place? Let me work his sexual abuse case. Nasty work, but somebody’s got to check out the porn sites.”
    “Shut up, Mendiola.”
    He stared out Dillon’s window that opened into the detective unit’s open seating arena. Most everyone was gone, but not skinny, devoted Pete Neles. He sat at his tidy desk, his red hair sharp in a military buzz-cut. “I’m supposed to be on vacation,” Jack said.
    “But it was your cold case, Jack, and I go by the rules. Now get out of here before I really get mad. I know you’ve got some personal problems, but get a handle. The next time you smart-mouth me, it’s on record.”
    Eager to leave, he went to the door.
    “Before you go, here’s another case.” She reached for a file on the desk, gave him a kindly look. It’s a hay theft turned nasty. The cowboys who stole the hay got into a shootout with a yuppie rancher out in Eagle. Shot a $75,000 prize-winning Charlois bull.”
    She handed him the file folder. “Can you believe it?”
    Jack glanced briefly at the top report, then closed the folder, slapped it against his leg. “Yes, ma’am, I can.” He grinned honestly for the first time that morning. Not that he enjoyed seeing gun-happy citizens, or criminals, or a hapless bull wasted, but the case had rhyme and reason. Theft was real. Protection of property was real. And he appreciated reality after the wierd scene on Table Rock.
    Mendiola left Dillon’s office, nodding to Joe Deet who worked primarily with teens and drugs, mainly Ecstasy these days. From the exhaustion on his face, it looked like Joe could use a little of the drug himself. Pete Neles, on the other hand, brimmed with energy. He gave a quick, “Hey” as Mendiola passed.
    “Hey, yourself,” Jack came back.
    Messages littered his desk like over-sized pink confetti. His nephew, Tony Hamilton, had called six times that morning. There were several other calls, but none of them urgent. He knew what Tony wanted: six thousand dollars to stave off his creditors and save his fledgling custom automotive business. Jack had promised to look out for him after his brother’s divorce. He’d seen him through his angry phase, his scrapes with the law and finally his vo-tech classes. In the process, he became Tony’s big brother. He loved him, trouble or not.
    The phone rang, a grating high-pitched squeal. He snatched up the receiver mid-ring.
    Tony didn’t say hello, only, “Do you have it? It’s got to be certified. And if I don’t