Silent Weapon. Debra Webb
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It’s our job to preserve the past. It’s what we do for the future. She arched a skeptical eyebrow. Even if some of us aren’t satisfied being a mere historical archivist.
“Not you, too,” I grouched. Was everyone around me against me?
My co-worker looked stung. I have plans, too.
I sighed. She was right. By this time next year she would be working at some fancy-shmancy law firm. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I had to do this.” She, of all people, should understand.
Helen folded her arms over her chest and tried to look annoyed, but she failed miserably. Do you know that the chief—the chief of detectives, mind you—called me into his office this morning to question me about what you’ve been up to? Why, I’ve worked at Metro for twenty years and not once have I ever been summoned to his office.
Okay, maybe she was a little irritated at that. How could everything have gone so wrong? I hadn’t meant for it to be this way. The murderer had been caught red-handed with the body—well, there was still the small technicality of identifying the remains. It had been two years, it wasn’t like they were visibly identifiable. But I knew. My letters and that call were what had prompted the bad guys into action.
Sawyer and Carlyle were both being detained as individuals of interest for questioning. The two men’s overpriced lawyers were pitching a hissy-fit, but this time the law was on the side of the police. They not only had human remains but had caught Sawyer and Carlyle preparing to bury said remains beneath eighty yards of cement. The cement-company driver had been brought in for questioning as well. As I had suspected, he’d merely followed orders, delivering a truck with the requested amount of cement at the time and to the place designated. Money talked. No good businessman quizzed a well-paying client.
Faring no better than the suspects, I had spent the better part of the day yesterday being interrogated by Barlow as well as Chief Nathan Kent, the chief of detectives Helen spoke of. Both detectives appeared to be furious that I had taken this mission upon myself.
I explained over and over how the case had been misfiled and I’d ended up reading it out of curiosity. The plan had come to me in a blast of inspiration that I couldn’t explain. I had been searching for some way to fulfill myself. To feel as if I was once more contributing to society. I hoped that if I proved successful in bringing Sawyer to justice I might be able to move into a position with Metro that would serve two purposes—self-fulfillment as well as community service. But that scenario appeared to have bombed big time. The whole ordeal had turned out way different than I had anticipated.
What’s worse, you read a cold-case file and tracked down the real killer. Helen shook her head from side to side, a resigned expression dragging her usually smiling features into a frown. And I can’t even tell anyone. Helen’s bosom heaved with what was no doubt a put-upon sigh, but then her eyes glittered mischievously. I hate secrets. What fun is knowing something so exciting and not being able to tell anyone? She turned back to her own filing.
That was another thing. Not that I had done this for the glory, but I had hoped to prove to the world that being deaf didn’t have to mean giving up a noteworthy life. There would be other deaf folks who could benefit from my story. But that wasn’t going to happen, either. Chief Kent had put a gag order on all those involved with Saturday night’s bust. Well, at least, the ones who knew how the events had transpired, including me.
I couldn’t tell a soul. Of course, my family knew and was fit to be tied. It would have helped tremendously if Chief Kent had kept them out of this. But his concern for my condition and overall safety had preempted that possibility. Sarah Walters, my best friend and sister-in-law, was Chief Kent’s secretary and probably the sole reason I’d been hired in the first place. If I had my guess, keeping my job after this would likely be more associated with Chief Kent wanting to keep his indispensable secretary happy than with the fact that I had helped solve an old homicide case.
Going home to my small bungalow on Greenview had been wishful thinking last night. My parents had shown up at Chief Kent’s office and insisted I stay the night at their home. The chief hadn’t helped matters by suggesting that it might be a good idea just in case some of Sawyer’s men got wind of my involvement.
Wasn’t that just the perfect ending to the perfectly hideous day? Going home with my parents like a naughty child. Not that I didn’t love my parents, but I was twenty-nine years old, for Christ’s sake. I was out on my own and a fiercely independent woman for nearly a decade before the loss of my hearing. I wasn’t supposed to be going backward. I need to be my own person…to contribute to the betterment of mankind…at least to some sort of independent future for myself. I might be deaf, but I’m not an invalid! Why couldn’t I get that through their heads? I had to do what I had to do.
It was the Irish genes I’d inherited from my mother’s side. We both sported the telltale red hair, though hers required a box of Clairol now and then. My mother had absolutely no room to talk about being bullheaded. No one, and I do mean no one, could be more stubborn than my sweetheart of a mother. Why couldn’t she see that I merely needed the same control over my own destiny?
I trudged back to my desk and grabbed up another armful of files. Oh, well. At least I still had my job. That was something. A smile tickled the corners of my lips. As frightening as parts of my vacation had been, I had to admit, I had loved the thrill of the chase. My blood heated and goose bumps pebbled my skin with the memories. Maybe I could be a cop. There were laws that protected the rights of the physically impaired so they couldn’t be discriminated against. I should look into that avenue. Who said I had to spend the rest of my life in the dungeon beneath Metro filing old cases for the various working divisions? I wanted more.
Depositing one file after the other into its appropriate drawer envelope, I lost track of time by mulling over the weekend’s events. Detective Barlow was kind of cute, even thoroughly furious as he’d been on Saturday night. I couldn’t help thinking of the way he’d hauled me up against his body to keep me still and quiet. Add strong and well muscled in addition to cute.
I pushed those foolish thoughts aside. He was probably married, anyway. Besides, after two years I had pretty much figured out that guys didn’t go for deaf chicks. I hadn’t had one offer for dinner or a movie, much less anything else, since losing my hearing. That first year, I had to admit, might have had something to do with my life-is-over attitude. But for the past year there hadn’t been a legitimate excuse for being ignored. My outward appearance hadn’t really changed that much. If anything I was thinner. I’d never been drop-dead gorgeous by any means, but I was attractive. At five-six I was average height. I kept in shape with Pilates as well as a two-mile run three times a week. I’d been told I had nice green eyes. I should at least get an occasional offer for dinner and a movie!
I shrugged off the depressing thoughts and finished the stack of files. Some contained new, quickly resolved cases that held hardly any reports or other evidentiary documents, while others held new information to be added to thicker files on older cases. The unsolved cases were designated a bit differently than the ones closed after having been solved. Occasionally a review would be done to determine if more could be done to help solve an old case. But that didn’t happen often. There just wasn’t enough time or manpower. Law enforcement was like teaching, there was never enough funding to go the full distance.
When I would have turned to walk back to my desk, a quick tap on my shoulder warned me that someone had moved up behind me. I’d been too caught up in thought to notice. At times I could feel the change in my environment when someone came close, but I had to be paying really close attention to be aware of the subtle difference. Clearly this was not one of those times.
Sarah, my sister-in-law, gifted me with a weary smile. How’s it going? she asked.
Sarah, of all people, knew how difficult things were for me right now. She and I had been best friends all through high school. We both played in the school band. To this day I hated the sound of a flute. I rolled my eyes at my own slip. The last time I’d heard it, I’d still hated it. Sarah said the same about a clarinet. The truth was neither of us had cared for playing a musical instrument. Being in the band had been a means to an end. It meant we went on