shadows of salem 01 - shadow born (3 page)

The next day started off well enough. I woke up bright and early, made myself an onion and mushroom omelet, and had enough time after that to put some work into my appearance, which was important since this was my first day on the job. I didn’t really know what was considered business casual in Salem, but I dressed as if I was heading into work at Chicago PD on my first day as a detective—sensible black flats, crisp grey slacks, a black turtleneck, and one of three special blazers that I never left for work without.

I loaded my 1911 with the wooden vampire bullets I brought along, then tucked it into the concealed carry pocket built into the left side of my blazer. Since I couldn’t officially carry a non-police issue firearm while on the job, and there was no way I could explain firing wooden bullets anyway, I had to take extra measures to keep myself armed and dangerous against vampires, but it was worth it. No way was I going out, even in broad daylight, without my gun. Not after that vision I’d seen when touching Shelley’s ring.

I wonder if she made it back to town, and if she’s coming by with those cookies,
I thought as I trotted down the stairs and headed out into the early morning sunshine. There were definitely secrets lurking behind those shadowed eyes of hers, and if she was tangled up with vampires in any kind of way, I was sure she was going to need my help eventually.

I just hoped that when she came knocking on my door, she wouldn’t be bringing a horde of the undead with her.

Since the station was only a ten-minute walk from my apartment, I hoofed it so I could get a feel for the town. The chill wind ruffled my loose curls as I traversed the sidewalks, passing by colonial-style houses and brick storefronts. There were plenty of people out and about, rushing their kids off to school or heading for work themselves, and I exchanged smiles and nods with them as I passed. Salem was definitely a small town compared to Chicago, but it wasn’t so small that a newcomer would stand out.

The station was a two-story brick building off Margin Street, and I had to say it looked a hell of a lot smaller than my precinct back in Chicago. Hell, I didn’t think it could fit more than our homicide detective division. But then again, there was only about one homicide a year in this small town, so it wasn’t like they needed a lot of cops.

I let myself in through the front door, then glanced around at the white walls, reddish brown floor tile, and boring black carpet. To my left were the bathrooms and some waiting chairs, and in front of me and to the right were greeting stations that were walled off and protected by bullet proof glass. Most of the different department windows had their shades drawn, but the one in front of me was open, and someone was sitting behind it, tapping away at their keyboard.

“Good morning,” a uniformed brunette greeted me as I approached the window, a Bostonian accent evident in her brisk voice. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Brooke Chandler, on loan from Chicago PD.” I flashed her a friendly smile. “I’m reporting to Captain Randall.”

“Ah! Yes, he said to expect you.” The uniform snatched up the phone on her desk. “Just a moment.”

A couple of minutes later, the uniform cleared me, then gave me the passcode to enter the doorway that led to the rest of the precinct. I punched in the code, then followed her directions, trotting up the stairs to the second floor. I went down a hall, into a room marked ‘support services division’, then stopped outside a closed door on the opposite side. I eyed the brass placard on the door that said ‘Captain’s Office’, then glanced around the room to make sure I had the right place. If not for the uniform jackets draped on the backs of chairs, and the map on the far wall stuck with pins and riddled with pictures of suspects, I would have thought nobody worked here. But then again, they might all be off doing something.

Never mind that,
I scolded myself, knocking on the door.
You’re not here to criticize the precinct. You’re here to look into Tom’s case.

“Come in,” called a deep, male voice.

I pushed open the door and stepped into a rectangular office that was half the size of my bedroom. Maps, artwork, and certificates of achievement hung on the walls above file cabinets and shelves, and the majority of the space was dominated by a cherry-wood L-shaped desk. Behind the desk sat a large, broad-shouldered man in uniform with blocky features, a crew cut, and a stern, unfriendly expression on his face.

“Detective Chandler.” He jerked his head down once in what I imagined was an acknowledgement of my presence. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sir.” My spine stiffened, but I forced myself not to sound defensive. “It was a long trip.”

“Maybe, but I was expecting you last night, and I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.” He gestured to the blue visitors’ chairs impatiently. “Have a seat.”

I did as instructed, resisting the urge to grit my teeth. The Chief of the Salem PD, Mary Spencer, had been more than friendly on the phone, and I’d assumed Captain Randall would be the same, especially since he’d been friends with Tom. But there was no such luck on my part, and if the way the skin around his mouth tightened was any indication, he looked as though he wasn’t very happy to see me.

So much for rolling out the welcome mat
.

“All right, well now that we’re here, let’s get this over with.” The Captain reached into a drawer and drew out a substantial stack of forms. “These are from HR. You’re to fill them out and turn them in before you’re allowed access to anything in this precinct. I’m assigning Detective Guy Baxter as your buddy, so you can go on and get cozy with him in the bullpen. He’ll answer any questions you have and show you around the building.”

He pushed the papers at me, then turned back to his computer, fingers already poised over the keyboard as if there was a burningly urgent email he just couldn’t
wait
to reply to. I stared at him in disbelief, unable to fathom how casually he’d dismissed me.

“Excuse me, sir, but this isn’t right.” I straightened in my seat. “You can’t just drop this on me and then toss me into the bullpen.”

Captain Randall scowled, turning his attention back to me. “Are you telling me what I can and can’t do, Detective?”

I bit back the retort that sprang to my lips—the look in his dark eyes was growing dangerous, and I was trying to get things back on track, not make them worse. “No, sir, it’s just that this is my first day here. I expected a little more from our first meeting.”

The Captain fully turned his body toward mine now, swiveling his chair around. “What, did you want a pep talk? Because the last time I checked, nobody was forcing you to come out here. I didn’t think I’d need to hold your hand since you’re an experienced detective.”

“No, you don’t,” I agreed, my voice growing tight despite my efforts to rein in my temper. “I’m an excellent detective, which is why I came here. I want to find out what happened to Tom, and I also want to take over the kidnapping case he was working on for you.”

Captain Randall blinked. “Kidnapping case? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The missing kids from the orphanage Tom grew up in.” Incredulity crept into my voice. “He said a couple of the cases were connected to Salem, which was why you called him, and that he came out because he felt personally connected. And now he’s dead, and
I
feel personally responsible for letting him come out here by himself. I want to take over his case and find some answers.”

Captain Randall shook his head, looking at me as though I’d grown a second set of eyes. “Look, Detective Chandler, I don’t know what kind of problems you and Tom were having where he felt like he couldn’t be honest with you, but he didn’t come out here to look for any missing kids. I called him up to help me with an old murder investigation he’d been working on years ago. There were no kids involved, and no orphanage, either.”

“W-what?” I gripped the arms of my chair so hard that my fingernails scratched the wood. “That’s ridiculous. Tom wouldn’t lie to me.”

Annoyance flashed in Captain Randall’s eyes, and he bared his teeth at me. “Again, I don’t know what kind of relationship the two of you had—”

“We were getting
married.
” I surged to my feet, unable to hold my anger in any longer. “That’s what kind of relationship we had. Tom was my fiancé, and we told each other
everything.
If he said there was a kidnapping case, then there was.”

“Look, Detective,” the Captain said, his voice hard. “Tom was a good man and a good detective. Unfortunately, we can’t ask him why he told you what he did, but I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I can’t accept this.” Anxious now, I yanked my phone from my pocket and pulled up the article I’d found in Tom’s email. “Look, here’s an article on two of the missing kids. You can’t tell me that’s not real.” I shoved the screen in Captain Randall’s face.

The Captain’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he read the article. He shook his head. “I don’t know where you got this article, but your information is wrong. I’ve never even heard of those two boys.”

“This article is from the Boston Herald,” I said, though my determination was starting to waver. “Are you saying it’s a lie?”

“I’m saying I’ve never heard of those boys, and that Tom wasn’t working on a kidnapping case with me.” Captain Randall’s voice was firm. “Look, Chandler, I know you’re upset that he’s gone, but there’s nothing more to do than move on. If you’re not going to do your job, the door’s there. Otherwise, take your paperwork and get out of my office.”

“I—” I clamped my lips together, choosing my words carefully before the Captain really did give me the boot. “Sir, I would appreciate it if I could at least take a look at the file regarding Tom’s death. I just don’t believe he died in a fire.”

“You’ll get your files tomorrow,” he said. “Today, you’re to finish that paperwork and get familiar with the way we do things around here. Just because you’re here to work on Tom’s case—a case which I don’t believe needs further investigating, by the way—doesn’t mean you won’t be expected to help out the department as needed. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” I bit out.

He turned back to his computer. “Good. You’re dismissed.”

I gnashed my teeth against the protest bubbling up in my throat, knowing that if he turned back to look at me again, it would be the last time he ever did. So instead of pushing the matter, I grabbed my stack of paperwork, then headed out into the bullpen to find a seat.

The sooner I did that, the sooner I could figure out why Captain Randall was lying to me, and what
really
happened to my fiancé and those missing kids.

CHAPTER 3

T
he bullpen here was a quarter of the size of the one back at my old precinct in Chicago. It was a rectangular space separated from the sergeants’ offices by a wall that was high enough to shield the cops that sat at their desks typing reports, but low enough that you could easily peer over the top to check on them if you wanted to.

As I walked through the area, searching for my desk, I caught sight of a man on his hands and knees next to his desk, muttering curses under his breath as he pawed at the scratched tile floor. He was a stocky guy with short, wavy brown hair, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a button-down blue shirt. I could tell he was a detective by the shiny detective’s shield winking at his belt, not far from the gun holstered at his side.

“Hey there,” I said, approaching him cautiously so as not to startle him. I didn’t need him banging his head on the desk or something. “Need some help?”

The man raised his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he took me in. I pegged his age at around forty from the weathered lines in his square face. “You’re Brooke Chandler?”

“Yeah. You know my name?”

“Of course. I’m Guy Baxter.” He gestured to the tile. “One of my contact lenses popped out, so if you wouldn’t mind helping me look for it…”

“Sure, of course.” I crouched beside him, then carefully began scanning the area.

“While we’re here, guess I’d better give you the basics about me,” he said as he resumed hunting for his contact lens. “I’m forty-two, twice-divorced, no kids, and a workaholic. There might not be as much crime here in Salem as there is in Chicago, but I’ve been working at this precinct for ten years now, and anybody here can tell you, I prefer to burn the midnight oil. I hope you can keep up with that.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I was going to need him to help me out since I technically didn’t have any jurisdiction here, so the more available he was, the better.

“You Catholic?” Baxter asked.

“Huh?” I turned to look at him with a frown.

“The cross on your neck.” Baxter’s eyes fixed on my chest, and I realized the chain I’d tucked beneath my turtleneck had somehow slipped out and was dangling forward. “I assumed you were religious.”

“Oh.” I touched the tiny silver cross, and emotion welled up in my chest so fast that tears actually sprang to my eyes. I pushed them back, along with my feelings, and returned my hand to the ground. “It was my fiancé’s. He gave it to me a few months before he came out here.”

“Oh, yeah. Tom Garrison.” Baxter’s tough-guy face softened a little with sympathy, and he nodded. “I never got to meet him, but I heard he was a good cop. Anyway, my brother is a priest, and he runs the Gateway Church off Liberty Street, so I figured I’d say you should stop by there.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” I smiled. “Maybe I will sometime.”

My hand brushed against the sticky plastic of the contact lens, and triumph rushed through me. But before I could say anything, a vision burst into my mind, and I sucked in a breath.

Standing right here, just on the other side of this desk, was my fiancé. And he was talking to Detective Baxter.

The vision was gone as quickly as it came. Anger rushed through me, and I whipped my head to the side to confront Baxter. “Are you
sure
you’ve never met Tom?”

“Sure as the ground beneath my feet.” Confusion filled Baxter’s eyes as he narrowed them. “Why?”