Beckett smiled.
“Sounds good, boss. Sounds good.”
***
“I told your partner, that Yasiv fellow, all I know don’t really have anything to say,” Franklin exclaimed as Detective Dunbar approached.
Detective Dunbar looked around, confused.
“No, I… I just…”
Franklin’s face suddenly softened, and he reached out to Dunbar. He put an arm around his shoulders, guiding him towards the door. Through the glass, Dunbar could see that half the chairs were filled already.
“I'm sorry, Toby, I thought you were coming for something else.”
Dunbar looked up at him.
“My name's not Toby,” he said quietly. “My name's Steve, Steve Dunbar. But everyone just calls me Dunbar.”
Franklin nodded and opened the door to the room.
“Okay, Dunbar.”
“Can I join you guys? I’ve got a lot of things I need to talk about.”
“Of course, you can. We’re open to anybody here. Take your time, and when you're ready to speak, we’ll be here to listen.”
Epilogue
“You’re not gonna believe this,” Suzan said as she stepped out of the Uber, cell phone in hand.
Beckett was bogged down by bags and struggled to follow her.
“What? What is it?”
Suzan held the cell phone out to him, and Beckett read the title of the article out loud.
“Local Rev. cannot cure death, but he may have caused it.”
Beckett raised an eyebrow and Suzan pulled the phone back and began paraphrasing.
“This is… unbelievable. Check this out: Early Tuesday morning, police were called to the church after someone noticed a light left on in the basement. After investigating, they found the remains of C.J. Vogel, a young woman who had been suffering from cystic fibrosis. C.J. had gone missing more than three weeks ago and the police were disturbed to find her chained to the wall. Investigators have been unable to locate either Reverend Alister Cameron or his wife Holly Cameron, who are considered dangerous. If you know anything about their whereabouts please contact local PD. Jesus, Beckett! I was with Holly last night!”
Beckett shifted the bags to one shoulder and unlocked the door to his house.
“I told you he was bad,” he said. “I told you that asshole was—”
She punched him on the shoulder.
“Don't talk about it like that, Beckett. The poor girl is dead. I just can't believe… we had dinner in their house, Beckett. I feel—oh my God—this is just—”
She was cut off by the sound of a car pulling up to the bottom of the driveway. Beckett finally threw the door wide and turned to see who it was.
Two men stepped from a dark vehicle, one of whom he immediately recognized.
“Hank? What's going on?” Beckett hollered.
When the man didn't answer, Beckett instinctively turned his body to block the open door.
“Hank?”
His first thought was that maybe something happened to Drake, or to Screech, or any one of the misfits who were masquerading as private investigators.
But when Yasiv refused to meet his gaze, Beckett’s heart started to race in his chest.
The other man, someone he’d never seen before, strode right up to them with a sheet of paper in his hand.
“Dr. Beckett Campbell?”
Beckett's eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, that's me. What's this—”
The man thrust the paper at his chest and Beckett had to drop a bag in order to grab it.
“Hey? What the hell,” Suzan yelled.
“Hank, what the fuck is—”
Yasiv averted his eyes.
“Beckett, if you don't get out of the way,” the man said in a quiet voice. “We’re going to have to put you in handcuffs. Please, don't make this any more difficult than it already is. That sheet of paper in your hand is a search warrant—it’s a search warrant for your house, Beckett.”
END
Author’s Note
Beckett’s probably the most fun character to write, mostly because he can say and do whatever he wants and get away with it. Until now, that is…
But he’s also complicated; clearly, he believes his actions are justified, but he often oversteps moral boundaries. They are—how can I put this delicately—fluid when it comes to right and wrong. Add Suzan into the mix, who’s destined to take a more prominent role in future books, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster… or hilarity.
Meh, a lot of both.
Join Suzan and Beckett as they continue their adventures through the winding intestinal tract of modern ethics that they seem to make up as they go along.
Your favorite Medical Examiner will be back in Surgical Precision, due out in a couple of months.
You keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.
Best,
Patrick
Montreal, 2019
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Patrick Logan 2019
Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2019
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.
Third Edition: January 2019
Surgical Precision Page 18
