Thursday 4 October 2012
Uneven stacks of reports and folders covered Detective Brian Hunt’s desk at the station house, many of them appeared in danger of toppling to the floor. He’d struggled with completing his own case load, but now, following Seaborn’s murder, Hunt had inherited a quarter of Seaborn’s cases as well as the investigation into the detective’s murder. He looked around the squad room hoping to catch someone’s eye, have a friendly chat with them, and convince them to take a few cases from is desk. Like him, everyone was busy and no one spared the time to look up from their computers and paperwork.
‘Hunt. My office. Now,’ the authoritative voice of Lieutenant Troy Logan wasn’t one that could be easily ignored. Hunt heaved himself out of his chair and presented his presence in the Lieutenant’s office.
‘Sit down, Hunt.’ He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. ‘Catch me up on things, and by things, I mean Seaborn’s murder.’
‘I’m waiting on the autopsy report, sir. I’ve set up an incident room. Crime scene is getting us copies of all photographs and reports. Seaborn’s car was fingerprinted but there’s nothing out of the ordinary – just his, the wife and kids,’ he replied.
‘Any theories yet?’
‘Just one.’ Hunt shifted in his seat. The implication of his theory meant that many more lives were at stake.
‘Well, what the hell is it?’ Lieutenant Logan barked.
‘Lennard, Ricketsen, and I think this is related to the stalker case Seaborn was working on.’
‘Who the hell is Ricketsen?’ the Lieutenant barked again.
‘Officer from downstairs. He took the initial report from the woman, realised it was more detailed than what the uniforms could deal with, and walked it up to Russ.’ In Hunt’s experience, he knew enough to let Logan prod him for answers. It made the Lieutenant feel superior, and when he felt superior, he was much easy to deal with.
‘Don’t keep me in suspense, Hunt. I’m not a frickin’ mind reader.’
* * * * *
From his home office window on the first floor, William Fairmont peered down into the backyard and saw the female detective and his wife deep in conversation. They didn’t appear to have struck upon any great insight into the stalking case, at least their expressions didn’t give anything away, and William prided himself on his astuteness where reading body language was concerned. He was, after all, a very successful, very rich businessman, and he didn’t become that way through ineptitude and poor observations.
He smiled to himself and stepped back from the window. He had decided he would work from home today, for Missy’s sake. She needed company at a time like this, and despite the police presence in and at their home, William felt more secure knowing that he knew every move Missy was making.
As if on cue, electronic devices began chiming; calendar reminder alarms, emails, text messages, phone calls, and video conferencing tones were simultaneously calling for William’s full attention.
‘A busy day is a good day,’ he said as he strode to his desk and began prioritising the incoming communications.
However, it was a text message from an unidentified number that caught his attention first.
‘Are you concerned about what I’ll do next? You should be.’
. . . To be continued . . .