The Silent Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #1) (6 page)

It was a two-bedroom apartment that she shared with a roommate.   Jessica had met Chloe at the coffee shop they both worked at.  When Chloe’s last roommate abruptly left without paying her share of the rent Chloe was left in a tough spot.  Jessica was still commuting from her mother’s house when she found out.  She quickly jumped at the opportunity and moved in.  That was almost eight months ago. Jessica never regretted the decision.

Chloe was clean and organized, just like her.  She had also become a friend and confidante.

Chloe was currently at the coffee shop.  She had taken over Jessica’s shifts so that Jessica could mourn her loss.

The last thing Jessica wanted to do was mourn.  What she really needed was to keep busy, to keep her mind occupied, or else she would go into deep depression.

Depression.

She couldn’t believe her father had been suffering quietly.  At no time did she see any signs that something was wrong when she was with him.  It had all come as a surprise.

She went into her room and straight to bed.

Her eyes felt heavy. The crying had worn her out.

She quickly fell asleep.

When she woke up, she felt a bit better, but not a lot.

She needed to get out.  Get some fresh air.

She changed and left the apartment.

It was nice to be out.  It allowed her to breathe.

She had walked these streets a hundred times now, but today they felt different, as if she was walking them for the first time.

The death of her father had altered her state of mind. She no longer felt like the same person.  She had to fully come to terms with the fact that he was gone, but she couldn’t do it, it was too soon.

Suicides, accidents, or even murders were so very abrupt.  They never allowed the remaining family members to prepare for what was to come.  They happened when you least expected them to.  Death was the one event that no one really got over.  It lingered in the back of the subconscious for the duration of a person’s life. The survivors always thought of what the possibilities would still be if the deceased were still alive. 

Right now Jessica thought of her father, particularly her last conversation with him on the phone.  He sounded distant.  Normally, he would be excited to speak to her and would bombard her with a thousand questions. How was school, would be the first question he always asked her.  Being in an academic profession, education was paramount to him.  This was always followed by, how was her job? Did she need any money? And finally, when was she coming by to see him? Jessica always answered all those questions as creatively as possible to see what his reaction would be. School was okay but she might not graduate as planned.  Her job was fickle because her boss was a jerk. Money was tight. In fact, she may not have enough to pay her rent. And as for visiting him, that might not be possible for several months or even years.

This would elicit a loud laugh from him.  He knew she was joking, of course.  If anything was wrong she would tell him beforehand.  That was the type of relationship they had.

And that is what bothered her now about her last talk with him. He neither asked any of those questions nor cared for any answers she gave. When she asked how he was doing, he paused as if he were worried that someone was listening in on their conversation.

She knew her father had wild theories about the world.  He always warned her to be careful and never give out too much information, but she never paid much attention to them. He was a professor of contemporary issues. He had spent his entire life reading and dissecting current events.  She was certain some of his analysis had made an impact on him, but not to the point that he was a crazy lunatic or something.

He could be weird or odd sometimes. Maybe that was why her mom left him.  But deep down, though, he was as normal as anyone else.

During her last conversation with him, he had told her that he was busy working on something big and that he would call in a couple of days.  That was two days before she found out he had killed himself.

Jessica kept walking with her head down.  She didn’t know where she was going, but she didn’t care.  She was content in being lost in her thoughts. She then heard a voice.

She turned around to see Chloe racing her way.

“What’re you doing here, Jess?” she asked.  Chloe had short blond hair, and she always wore a lot of jewelry.

“I couldn’t stay at my mom’s,” Jessica replied with a shrug.

“I saw you through the window at the shop.”

Jessica hadn’t realized she had passed the coffee shop she worked at.

“Come inside,” Chloe said.  “I’ll make you something warm and we’ll talk.”

“What about your shift?” Jessica asked.

“Don’t worry about it.  Ajay is there, he’ll take over.  We were all worried about you.  Now come with me before I drag you kicking and screaming.”

Chloe was a good friend.  Jessica really did need someone to talk to.  And plus, a hot cup of chocolate would do wonders for her.

FIFTEEN

Hyder was in his cubicle, typing away on his laptop.

There were several stories he wanted to follow up on. He hoped some would lead to bigger and better stories.

One in particular had caught his attention.  There were several reports of thieves breaking into the homes of senior citizens.  The seniors were not hurt and the thieves never took cash, jewelry or even valuables.  All they did was take their medical cards. 

Hyder had found this odd and his journalistic instincts told them that there was something bigger at play. Could the thieves be using the medical information to find out when the victims eventually passed away?  This would seem like nothing from the outside, but that information could be used to create false identities or even used for identity thefts.  Hyder had heard of bank loans, car purchases, and even mortgages under the name of someone who had passed away.  This was only a theory, but it was worth checking into.  If it did indeed turn out to be something, Hyder would be the first to cover it. 

This story could turn into other stories
, Hyder thought, as he leaned back on his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Thieves
plus
senior citizens
plus
fraud; there is so much potential for great print material.  Heck, maybe even people working in medical offices might be in on it. 

Hyder smiled at the last thought.

If his theory turned out to be true and his stories captured readers’ attention, Dunny would surely make him permanent at the
Daily Times
.

The phone rang.

Speak of the Devil
, Hyder thought.

He answered.  “Sure, I’ll be there in two minutes.”

He hung up. “What does she want?” He thought out loud.

As usual, he found her behind her desk.

“Hyder, come in,” she said, not looking up.  “I’ve got a story for you.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Hyder replied a little too eagerly.

“There is a South Asian Festival happening on the east side of Franklin.  I want you to cover it.”

Hyder’s heart sank.  Festivals, although fun to cover, were not really a good springboard to bigger and better stories.  They were just fillers for other important stories in the paper.

“I would rather cover something else,” Hyder said.

“Like what?” Dunny looked up at him.

He couldn’t tell her about the senior citizen story.  If it didn’t pan out Dunny would have him for dinner.

“Um… a couple of things here and there.”

Dunny looked at him.  “Drop them,” she said.  “I need someone covering this festival and you’re doing it.” 

“Is it because I’m brown?” Hyder asked.  He hoped to change her mind one last time.

“Last I checked you were,” she said without skipping a beat.  “Who better to do it than you?  Any other comments, Hyder?”

“No, ma’am.”

He left.

Hyder found Lester standing by his cubicle.

“Why so down?” Lester asked.

Hyder told him about his meeting with Dunny.

“Really?” Lester’s eyes lit up.  “Can I come?”

“What? Why?”

“Are you kidding me,” Lester beamed.  “A festival like that will surely have lots of
delicious
food. I can’t wait to try the kebabs, the naans, and what’s that sweet milky thing that looks like a Popsicle?”

“A kulfi.”

“Mmmm… kulfi.”

“Are you sure
your
editor will allow you to come?” Hyder said.

Lester grinned. “Sure, I’ll tell him it’s related to some new product that’s coming out.”

Hyder rolled his eyes. “What if he doesn’t believe you?”

“Then I’ll tell him I’ll take it as a vacation.  There’s no way I’m missing Indian food.”

SIXTEEN

Nolan scratched his beard as he sat in a diner not far from police headquarters.

He needed a shave, but that was the least of his worries right now.  His head throbbed. When he touched the back of his skull, it stung.

Damian had returned his weapon to him.  He had made no comment when he did so.  Nolan was relieved he did. Right now, Nolan couldn’t deal with a lawsuit of any kind against him. 

He would leave a bigger tip for Damian the next time he went. 

He sipped the coffee and made a sour face. He had requested it be strong and black.  He had to give the impression that he was sober when he walked into the office today.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

The last time he had shown up, he nearly had a fist fight with a fellow officer.

Nolan couldn’t remember who the officer was, but he clearly remembered the Captain was not pleased.  Nolan had been drinking the night before and when he showed up at work he was drunk out of his mind.

An officer had commented on Nolan’s state of mind and that triggered something inside him.  Nolan was ready to kill the officer had it not been for others who restrained him.

Soon after, Nolan was sent to the force’s psychiatrist who had prescribed him medication, which he still hadn’t chosen to take.  The psychiatrist also recommended he join AA, but Nolan hadn’t chosen to go there either.

He would go, though, if he had a drinking problem.

Tom Nolan was not an alcoholic. No sir.

He drank more than some people, but nothing that would impair him from doing his job.

He thought about his job and he suddenly wanted to have a drink.

The cases he had worked on before invigorated him, not so much now.  When they placed him on medical leave, he was glad that it happened.

It allowed him to focus his energies on more important things.  Drinking, sleeping, more drinking, more sleeping, the possibilities were endless.

He finished the cup and looked at the time.

He didn’t have the heart to get up and go.  Plus, he still wasn’t sobered up to meet his colleagues yet.  He ordered another strong cup of coffee.

His cell phone rang and he checked it.

It was Sergeant Doug Halton.  Halton was a pain in the ass and he was also Nolan’s supervisor.  After the examination of Freeland’s home, Nolan had gone AWOL.  He hadn’t shown up at the division, which he was planning to do right after he finished his coffee.

Nolan squinted.  Was it Halton whom he had the fight with? He wasn’t sure.  His memory was a little foggy at that time.

Regardless, Halton had it in for him, Nolan was sure.  He was as big of a prick as Pascale.  If Halton had his way, Nolan would have been fired by now.  It was Captain Ross who still wanted to see him employed.

This was another reason why Nolan had not quit.  The Captain somehow saw something in him. Nolan did not know what, but it was why Nolan was going to go back. 

A thought ran through Nolan’s head.  Did the Captain feel sorry for him?  For what happened to him? Nolan shook his head.  That was impossible.  If the Captain did indeed pity him, he would have left him to rot in his home.  For the Captain to come and summon him in person spoke volumes.  Captain Ross wouldn’t give up on him and Nolan would do his best not to disappoint him.

He looked at his watch and then at the cup.  It was empty.

I should go now
, he thought.

Nah, five more minutes
, he reassured himself. 
Halton can wait.

SEVENTEEN

Hyder was typing up his story on the South Asian Festival when he heard a knock on his cubicle.

“Hi Mrs. Parker,” Hyder said.

Mabel Parker had worked at the
Daily Times
for the last twenty-two years. She was barely five feet tall with gray cropped hair and she always wore bright and colorful dresses.  Her dresses were so colorful that she sometimes looked like a walking, talking Christmas tree.