Black Oil, Red Blood

Chapter 10



Nash and I arrived at Schaeffer’s, along with backup, in ten minutes.

It wasn’t long before I realized I had talked myself into a situation that still wasn’t going to help me very much. As soon as I showed Nash the file stash, he was just going to have his guys cart everything back to the evidence locker. What to do? What to do?

Once the house was clear, Nash ushered me inside.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, “I was thinking. You and your guys are not trained to read the kind of research Schaeffer has been compiling. What are you going to do if you can get your hands on these documents? You won’t know how to handle them.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“Even if you do, we’re talking about tens of thousands of sheets of paper. Time is of the essence. You’ll need help sifting through the stacks.”

“I think we can manage.”

“What if you can’t? What if there’s a single sheet of paper in there with a smoking gun and you guys miss it? It’s entirely possible. You don’t know the context of the case like I do,” I said. I hoped I wasn’t sounding as desperate as I felt. “The key piece of information that provides motive and points straight to the murderer could be right under your nose, and you wouldn’t know it because you don’t have a good grasp of the bigger picture.”

“Quit stalling and show me where the files are.” Nash encircled my upper arm with his hand, preparing to forcibly usher me around the house if he had to.

I shook him off. “I will. But I’m telling you, just like you need my help to find the files, you need my help to go through them. I’m offering my services free of charge. We’ll just take the boxes back to my house and I can—“

“We’ll do no such thing.” Nash’s grip tightened on my arm. “Even if I decide to accept your help, the boxes are going back to the station.”

“Okay, okay. Ease up on the grip, already.” He did, but only slightly. I took a few steps toward Schaeffer’s office. “So you’ll consider my offer?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Deciding to give up for now, I led Nash into Schaeffer’s office, walked to the bookshelf, and pressed firmly in on the Arthur Conan Doyle book. Just like before, there was a soft click and a gap appeared between the bookshelf and the wall. I slid the shelf open wider to reveal the file boxes inside.

Nash’s cell phone rang. “About time,” he muttered. “That’ll be my warrant.”

Nash motioned for his guys to load up the boxes and then answered the phone.

“Nash,” he said. “What? Yes, I can prove it.” A pause. “Based on my own testimony, that’s what.” Another pause. “Trust me, I know.” A look of incredulity spread over Nash’s face. “Well, she’s right here if you want to do it now.”

Nash shifted positions uncomfortably, then handed the phone to me. “Judge Hooper wants to talk to you.”

Hmm. Now this was an interesting development. I knew Judge Hooper in passing and had talked to him at various social functions before, but we were hardly on a first name basis.

I took the phone. “Hello?”

“Miss Taylor?” Judge Hooper’s high-pitched, aged voice crackled through the poor cell phone connection.

“Yes, Judge Hooper?”

“Did you break into that nice Dr. Schaeffer’s house tonight?”

“Well. . .” I said, not wanting to lie to a judge, even though I wasn’t on the stand and technically wouldn’t be committing perjury.

“Heh. Of course you didn’t. I didn’t figure a pretty little thing like you would. The very idea.”

“You’re very kind,” I said.

“Nonsense.” Judge Hooper lapsed into a coughing fit. “Gol’ darned cigar,” he said. “I’m too old for this. Hold on while I take a swig.”

“Chloe?” Another voice shot across the airwaves and into my ear—a voice I was hoping not to hear until at least tomorrow.

“Dick?” I asked.

“Come tomorrow morning, you got a lot of explaining to do.”

“According to Judge Hooper, I don’t,” I said.

“Good thing the Hold ‘em game was tonight,” he said, “or you’d be up a creek. Also a good thing Judge Hooper appreciates your perky little bee-hind, ’cause anybody else’d be in custody right about now.”

“I owe you one?” I asked, hardly believing the good ‘ol boys network in this town was working in my favor, for once. If only I could figure out how to exploit it all the time!

“Darn right, you do,” Dick said.

“Hey listen,” I said. “I hate to push my luck, but here’s the deal.” I told Dick about the files, carefully omitting the part where I broke in. “They’re about to be impounded as evidence, which means we’re going to have an awfully hard time reviewing them and making them available to a new expert in time for the next summary judgment hearing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick said. “Tell Nash to expect a call from the mayor. Where do you want the files?”

“My house?” I asked. “I don’t think there’s enough room in the office.”

“Sure. Fine.”

I could hardly believe my luck. It was all I could do to keep from dancing around the room in glee. “Who’s winning?” I asked, remembering the game.

“I am, of course.”

Of course.

“I want you on those files tonight,” Dick said. “Call Miles. Pull an all-nighter.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And holler at me tomorrow morning.”

“You got it.”

Dick hung up. I handed the phone back to Nash sheepishly. “You’re not getting a warrant tonight. I’m sorry to ruin your fun,” I said.

Nash actually almost scowled. “No you’re not.”

His phone rang again.

“That’ll be the mayor,” I said.

“The mayor? Who are you people?” Nash picked up the phone. “Hello sir,” he said. There was a pause. “But sir. . .” Another pause. “Yes sir.”

Nash’s half-scowl turned into a full-on glare as he hung up the phone. I didn’t like the look on his face, but at least, for once, I knew what he was thinking.