Memories of Us Read Online Free PDF Page B

her. “That he is.”
    The light turned green and he looked at her before accelerating. “My God, you’re hot for him.”
    She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head. “I am not.”
    “You are.” He laughed. “Admit it, St. John. You’ve got a thing for the asshole DA.”
    “Right.” She pinned him with a cool look. “You’ve figured me out, Cook. He’s my true heart’s desire. I lie awake at night fantasizing about him. I doodle his initials on my reports.”
    He snickered, but thankfully dropped the subject. They killed an hour at the local diner, tossing around case theories and bemoaning the time it would take to get their lab work. Celia nibbled at a piece of toast and pushed scrambled eggs around her plate while Cook wolfed down a hearty breakfast platter. Afterwards, they walked the two blocks to the law offices that lined the courthouse square. Construction continued on the new courthouse structure, the din of hammers, saws and jackhammers filling the air.
    The narrow stairway forced them to climb single file. Celia stopped on the landing and knocked at the frosted glass-paned door belonging to Judge Alton Baker.
    “It’s open.” The judge’s gruff voice wafted into the hallway.
    Celia turned the ancient metal knob, the door shuddering as she pulled it open. Judge Baker sat at his desk, packing boxes scattered around the room, half a ham biscuit resting on a greasy wrapper atop a stack of files. The room reeked of old law books.
    She stopped just inside the door. “Good morning, Your Honor.”
    He looked at them over his half-lenses, a shaft of sunlight picking out gray strands in his head of thick brown hair. “St. John and Cook. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    Smiling, she extended her warrant request. “We need a blood sample from a suspect.”
    Accepting the paper, he glanced at it and eyed her, his piercing gaze assessing. “This have anything to do with that dead baby?”
    “Yes, sir.” Cook leaned against the doorjamb. “We need to check the suspect’s DNA against the baby’s to prove or disprove paternity.”
    With a harrumphing sigh, Baker reached for a pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. “There you go. Make sure you nail the son of a bitch to the wall.”
    “Yes, sir.” Celia took the paper back from him. “Thank you.”
    In the hallway, with the door closed, Cook let out a slow, audible breath and grinned. “Son of a bitch actually makes me nervous.”
    Celia laughed and waved the warrant at him. “Come on. Let’s go make Mr. Doe’s day.”
    They crossed the street to the sheriff’s department, located behind the courthouse construction. At shortly after nine, the jail was coming to life. Celia followed Cook down the stairs to the holding area. In the hallway beyond, prisoners called to each other, and a jailer admonished them to keep it down. A lone voice groused about greasy, undercooked bacon.
    On the way down the stairs, Cook flipped through the keys at his belt. “Rise and shine, Doe. We need to see you a sec.”
    Celia stopped dead as they entered the holding area. Doe lay sprawled, legs at an unnatural angle, his arms twisted beneath him. Blood pooled under his head. Adrenaline pumped through her, her heart rate kicking upwards. “Cook, get that door open.”
    “Shit.” Stress vibrated in his voice. He fumbled the key into the lock and slammed the door to the side. “Son of a bitch, St. John. He did a header off the top bunk.”
    Memories of the fear in Doe’s eyes beat in her head. They’d screwed up. She should have played on that fear last night, gotten him talking. Now it was too late. “Oh, hell.”
    Cook pressed a finger to the carotid pulse point. “He’s dead. Damn, I gotta call the GBI. And the sheriff. Man, he’s gonna have a hissy fit.”
    She eyed the blood, mixed with brain fluid, her stomach dropping. “Guess we didn’t need that warrant after all.”

    Tom dropped his files and legal pad in his briefcase.