Honor Code Read Online Free PDF Page A

they finish, give Jordan or me a call.”
    “Shouldn’t be a problem,” the desk officer said. “It’s been a slow week.”
    The Newberry city police station was on the other side of town, less than ten minutes away. Robbins passed the courthouse with its big white columns and rounded the square. The flowered bushes—azaleas mostly—were blooming and tourists were already wandering around the memorial gardens.
    Between the Revolutionary War and the War Between the States, South Carolina was full of historic sites. Not what he wanted to spend time doing, but as long as the crime rate stayed down and the tourists—and their dollars—kept coming, the City Council would be happy. And happy City Councils kept the chief happy, which kept the chief off everyone’s ass.
    Robbins left the small historic district, crossed the river and passed the municipal building. Unlike the sheriff’s department, the police station shared space with fire and rescue, as well as the municipal court. He automatically counted the ambulances, pumper and ladder units, the Haz-mat truck. All present. Slow week, slow day, Robbins agreed, as he turned into the parking lot.
    All he had to do was find George Beason.
    He picked up his messages and flipped through them, noticing the Beason-related calls had been batched into Best-Chance, Follow-up and Hopelessly-out-there groups. For a moment, he tapped his fingers against the desk, his mind still churning with Miz Rose’s comments about family tension.
    He could do his part.
    He pulled out the Yellow Pages, turned to lawn services, and hired a guy to cut the grass.
    The yard taken care of, he made another personal call, then turned his attention to the message slips. He’d already returned the first three Best-Chance calls without learning anything worthwhile when Jerry Jordan hurried through the squad-room door.
    “Anything new?” Jordan asked.
    Robbins thought about giving him crap for coming in early, but it was the kid’s first interesting case. “Miz Rose saw a guy hanging around the house. With the kids there, she keeps an eye on the street. Her first impression is the guy’s an ex-con. Maybe something there, maybe nothing.”
    “He might’ve been casing the place, but that neighborhood wouldn’t be the first place I’d head for B&E.”
    Robbins agreed. “Either he’s in with the dealers or he was looking for somebody. Miz Rose said he was around in the afternoon. All her kids are home from school by then. Could be he was watching them. I asked for patrol to drive through the neighborhood for the next few days. Here.” He handed the batch of Follow-up message slips to Jordan. “Anything from the bank?”
    “No activity at all on the account.” Jordan flipped through the message slips. “I set up a watch on it.”
    Robbins wondered if no activity was good or bad. Was Beason dead or alive? His car high-jacked? Or was he off somewhere on a personal mission?
    No way to know until they found the old guy.
    Robbins dialed the number on the next Best-Chance message slip.
    “Nippon Center. How may I direct your call?”
    “I’m looking for Mr. Koga.”
    A moment later, a male voice with a faint Asian accent answered. “Thank you for returning my call, detective. I saw the request on the television news for information about an older Negro.”
    “We’re looking for George Beason. Do you have information about him?”
    “He was here—at the center—yesterday evening, shortly before we closed.”
    “You’re sure it was Mr. Beason?” What was the guy doing up in Greenville?
    “I’m quite sure. Their presence was somewhat unusual, so I would have noticed them anyway, but several events made me certain to remember them.”
    “You said ‘their’ and ‘them.’ Another person was with Mr. Beason?”
    “A younger man. Medium height, but very muscular. I found it unusual that one so young would be bald.”
    Huh. Miz Rose’s neighborhood bad-ass? “Head-shaving’s popular