I really don't know Burnard all that well, even though we've worked together for a few years now. I've probably said a few words in passing, acknowledged him at the bar, that kind of thing.
I have a feeling I'm not missing out by not knowing him all that well. There's something about him that has me on edge.
“You’ve got to give me something,” I say to him, for the third time. We’ve sat here for close to fifteen minutes while he rifled through Bishop’s file.
“I’ve got nothing,” he says, his voice on a level that would have my dog’s ears perk up. “She’s been clean. All her drug tests came back negative.”
I lean my head back, scrunch my shoulders and groan as the crack-crack-crack of my spine dance up my vertebrae.
“How did you get assigned to her? When did you first meet with her? Let’s start at the beginning.” I want to bash my head against the desk. I want to reach across the table and strangle the guy. I want, I want, I want. There’s so much I want to do right now and yet, here I sit, babysitting a man who should know better.
He’d better not be dirty. The rumors are there, the suspicions, but nothing’s been proven.
I sure as hell don’t want to be the one to dig this guy’s grave.
“Dixon asked me to do him a favor,” Burnard Adam’s apple bobbed.
Things aren’t looking good.
“Why would you owe him a favor?”
“Who said I owed him one?”
Did I really need to reply? One brow raise along with a cock of my head should do the trick.
It does.
He swallows again, hard. “He helped my kid out with a car, you know?”
“One of his famous Dixon Deals?”
Burnard nods.
“They really that good? What’s the trick?”
Burnard’s ping-pong gaze bounces across the room.
Everyone knew about the Dixon Deals. Donald Dixon wasn’t just a council member, he owned Dixon’s Used Cars and Rentals, just on the edge of downtown. He did everything to beat city prices and usually threw in a few bonuses too.
Hell, I even bought my Civic off him. Got one of his famous hand-made leather keychains too. I didn’t get a Dixon Deal though.
“I can’t really say…” Burnard’s gaze is now on his boots.
Seriously. If I were to write my reports with one hundred percent accuracy, this is where I’d be inserting my eye roll.
“Signed a contract and all that, you understand.”
I lean forward. “Come on dude, you know what’s happening. I don’t need to spell it out for you.”
Seconds turn into a freakin-waste-of-my-time minute while he considers whether to play ball or not.
I hope he does, for both our sakes. Not just play ball but strike it out of the park with a whack so loud and clear there will be no doubt whether he was dirty or clean.
Burnard’s hand goes up to his ear and tugs on the lobe. Something I’ve noticed him doing a few times since we’ve sat here.
“I’m not the only one who’s taken a Dixon Deal,” he says.
I blink. And wait. Then sigh. This is ridiculous.
“What do you want me to do? Pull in the Chief? Get you a deal?”
The moment he nods, I slap the table hard with the palm of my hand and stand.
There’s so much I want to say. So, so much. Spikes would be proud of me for not opening my mouth.
I fling open the door, the knob banging into the wall with a loud thud and storm out.
“Freaking five bodies, who knows how many more graves and the asshole wants a deal. A freakin deal,” I mutter loud enough I hope everyone around me hears. There's more here than what we're seeing.
I head back to the observation room, a thundercloud of anger and frustration, and stick the ear piece back in.
“Burnard wants a deal. He’s covering something.” I barely get the words past my clenched jaw.
Spikes isn’t even there. What the hell?
“Where is he? Why did he leave?” I turn to face the group at the table, all their heads bowed, pretending to be invisible.
“I can hear you,” my partner says, his voice disturbingly calm. The complete opposite of what I feel. “Join me in the hall.”
I’m so tense, every breath I release feels like I’m spitting toothpicks.
Spikes is in the hall, relaxing against the wall, a file in his hands.
“Burnard is spooked, huh? Wonder why.”
It takes me a moment to reply. In that moment, I let the million thoughts running through my head filter out until I’m focused only on this case and nothing else. Thoughts like why he’s so relaxed, and doesn’t appear as stressed as I feel, or why he looks like he could run a marathon where I’m ready to curl into a ball and weep like a little kid.
“Things are going to get worse before they get better,” he gives me that fatherly look I both hate and appreciate. “I know it feels like a sprint, but that’s when mistakes happen. We focus on one thing at a time, don’t jump ahead, wait for the clues to reveal themselves.”
I sink against the opposite wall and groan.
“We have multiple bodies, Spikes. When will it stop?”
“This ain’t no Chicago PD television show, Kaarns. Nothing is going to get solved within the hour. Relax. Steady yourself.”
Steady yourself. I hate those two words.
“Tell me what happened with Burnard.” He lowers the file he’s holding and gives me his full attention.
“Dixon was owed a favor. Burnard got one of the Dixon Deals when he bought his son a car. The minute I tried to squeeze more information out of him, he clammed up. Says he’s not the only one on the force to get a Dixon Deal and wants the Chief.”
Even as I say it, I know everything about this will go south.
Everything.
The Chief and Dixon are friends. Pals. The kind of buddies found tossing back drinks, throwing darts, walking downtown throwing candy to kids, kind of buddies.
“Want me to talk to him?”
I shake my head. The need to prove I’ve got the balls to become Detective one day is strong.
Him talking to Burnard is the same thing as my dad fighting my battles with my roommate over a missing dress.
“How’s it going in there?” I ask instead.
He shrugs. “The kids are pulling up information as I need it. You’ve trained them well.”
By kids, he means the group back in the observation room.
I try not to stand as tall as I feel. Praise from Spikes is always good for my ego.
“See what you can get out of Burnard before getting the Chief involved. We’re not on the hunt for dirty cops, just answers.”
“He’s not stupid, Spikes. He knows what telling the truth means. If he’s wrapped in this somehow…”
The look on Spikes face has my face glowing like a scolded child. I know better and without telling me so, he got the message across.
“We follow the clues, Kaarns. That’s all you’ll do. Follow the clues.”
11
How Deep Is The Hole?
1:09 am
I breathe deep. In. Out. In. Out. My stomach is rolling, churning, heaving as the images of those upturned gardens play with my mind.