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

by Thomas Fincham

  “You can’t imagine the pain I’ve been through.” Nolan glared at him. “This is nothing.”

  “You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. And I’m truly sorry for what happened, but the way you are going at it doesn’t help anyone.”

  “I don’t care.” Nolan looked away.

  “I do!” Ross snapped back. “Tom, I only came all this way for you. I don’t have to be here, but I am.”

  Nolan looked at him and then nodded. It wasn’t every day the captain showed up at an officer’s house.

  “Sir, I need more time,” Nolan said. “I’m not ready.”

  “You don’t have more time,” Ross responded. He threw the stack of overdue notices on the coffee table. “If you don’t get back to work you will be out on the streets.”

  “I can’t.” Nolan put his hands over his face. “I’m no use to you anymore.”

  “You’re still a member of the Franklin Police Department. And until you quit or retire, you will fulfill the duties bestowed upon you, got it?” Ross pointed a finger at him.

  Nolan’s shoulders sagged. “Sir…”

  “I’m not here to argue with you, Detective Nolan,” Ross said sternly. “As of right now, your leave of absence has ended. If you don’t complete your tasks, then I expect your resignation letter right this minute.”

  Nolan stared at him. A full minute passed by before he finally grinned. “I didn’t know you loved me that much, captain.”

  “I don’t.” Ross stood up. “I can’t see an officer rot on my watch. You can rot all you like after I’ve retired.”

  Nolan walked him to the door. “I’ll be ready for duty first thing tomorrow, sir.”

  “No, you’ll get ready now.”

  Nolan was confused.

  “I’ve got a straightforward suicide case for you.”

  Nolan didn’t know what to say.

  “And,” Ross continued. “If I were you, I’d get cleaned up.”

  Nolan sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  THREE

  The First National Building was one of the ugliest buildings in Franklin. It was 25-stories tall. The exterior was concrete with the design resembling an upright cinder block. The building looked cold and uninviting. It was owned by Brownstone Ltd., which also owned the Daily Times newspaper.

  Brownstone Ltd. occupied the top six floors of the building, whereas the next fifteen floors were leased to other commercial enterprises, which included a private business school, a law firm, and a call center.

  The last five floors were allocated to the Daily Times, with the basement used as a press center to print the newspapers.

  Hyder went through the front revolving doors. Instead of taking the elevator, he took the side stairs. The third floor was referred to as the “beat” room, where journalists spent their time hammering out stories.

  Hyder was a temp reporter at the local desk, which required him to cover city-related news. It was why he was talking to Mr. Akram that morning.

  Hyder moved past the rows of cubicles and all the way down to the end of the floor.

  Being a temp meant that he didn’t have his own cubicle. He had to share it with the temps from other departments. To Hyder’s relief, the cubicle was unoccupied.

  Hyder placed his laptop on the desk and let it load up.

  “Assalamu alaikum,” a male voice said. (Peace be upon you.)

  “Wa alaikum assalam,” Hyder replied, not looking up. (And upon you be peace.)

  Lester Glasgow stood by the cubicle entrance with a lollipop in his mouth. Lester was the same height as Hyder. But while Hyder was slim, Lester was not. Lester weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds.

  “How is my Muslim brother today?” Lester asked.

  “You're not Muslim. You know that, don’t you?” Hyder said, typing in his username and password. “In fact, what are you?”

  “I used to be a Christian, but then I became an Agnostic, now I choose not to take any position.”

  “Weren’t you a Rastafarian for some time?” Hyder asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Only during college.”

  “What can I do for you Lester?” Hyder asked.

  “I came by to see how your day was.”

  “Terrible.”

  “Really?” Lester made a face. “Weren’t you covering a robbery?”

  “I wish. The thief stole a whole chocolate bar and a full can of pop.”

  “What type of chocolate bar?”

  “I guess the one with nuts and almonds.”

  “Those are pretty pricey, you know.”

  “I’m sure they are.” Hyder dropped himself into the chair. His shoulders sagged.

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a story then?” Lester said.

  “You guessed right.” Hyder put his hands through his shaggy hair. “I don’t think I can go to Dunny and ask her to put it on the front page,” Hyder said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  Caroline Dunny was the editor for the city desk. She was tiny but brutal. She was aptly referred to as Dunny the Killer Bunny.

  Right now the Killer Bunny would slaughter Hyder if she found out he came back without a story.

  “What are you covering?” Hyder asked, trying to change the subject.

  Lester shrugged. “Oh, nothing important really; just the Game Expo next week.”

  “No way!” Hyder jumped off the chair.

  Lester worked at the technology desk, which at times required him to cover newly released gadgets and devices.

  “Oh yeah!” Lester grinned from ear to ear.

  “How did you land that?” Hyder asked.

  “I think it had something to do with my irresistible charm.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Hyder said, not believing him.

  Hyder’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and cringed.

  “It’s the Killer Bunny,” he said.

  Lester’s face widened as if in sheer horror. “I gotta go.” Before Hyder could say a word, he was gone.

  Hyder was always surprised at how Lester managed to suddenly appear and disappear, considering his body size.

  Hyder took a deep breath and hurried off.

  FOUR

  The house was located in a quiet street. It was not far from the Franklin University Campus. Students and faculty members were known to live in the houses on this street.

  Nolan parked his Dodge Charger at the curb and looked at himself in the rear view mirror.

  His eyes were still bloodshot.

  He rummaged through the glove compartment and retrieved a pair of dark sunglasses. While doing so he spotted a couple of bottles at the foot of the passenger seat. He looked around to see if anyone was watching.

  He then held one bottle in each hand.

  “Vodka or whiskey?” he murmured to himself.

  He looked up at the house with the yellow police tape around it. A police cruiser was parked in front of it.

  Nolan wanted to be anywhere but here.

  He took a mouthful of vodka.

  He approached the house, ducked under the yellow tape, and made his way to the entrance.

  An officer was standing by the door.

  “You can’t be here, sir,” the officer said.

  “It’s okay, I’m a detective,” Nolan said, adjusting his shades.

  “Your badge, sir?”

  Nolan patted his jacket and checked his pants pockets. “I think I must have left it at home,” he said.

  “Then I can’t allow you to proceed any further,” the officer said. “Please move behind the yellow line.”

  “I’m sure I have it.” Nolan looked around as if he had dropped it on his way to the house. “Maybe it’s in my car.”

  As he was making his way back to the Charger, a voice called out, “Nolan!”

  A woman was standing by the front door. She was waving him over.

  Nolan moved passed the officer and said, “I told you I wasn’t lying.”

  “Come on
,” the woman said as she took his arm and escorted him inside.

  Detective Marina Lopez had been with the force for over twelve years. She was considered the best of the best. Captain Ross always spoke highly of her. Nolan held her in high regard as well.

  Some on the force, however, thought Ross may have a thing for hot young Latinas, but Nolan knew that was not the case. Captain Ross knew talent when he saw it. Detective Lopez earned everything she got.

  “The captain sent you?” Nolan asked.

  She smiled. “Only to see how you're doing on your first day back.”

  “I think I’m doing great so far.”

  “Are you drunk?” Lopez sniffed.

  “Not entirely. Now, where’s the body?”

  FIVE

  He was hanging in the living room with a noose around his neck. The noose was attached to a beam in the ceiling.

  “Professor Eric Freeland,” Lopez said. “He’s sixty-two and he teaches at Franklin U.”

  “Who found the body?”

  “His assistant from the university.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “I have her in my car. She’s clearly shaken up. She said the professor had a class in the morning, but when he didn’t show up, she came down to check up on him.”

  “How did she get in?” Nolan asked.

  “He had given her a key.”

  Nolan looked at Lopez. Behind the shades she could tell what he was thinking.

  “No,” Lopez said. “They weren’t seeing each other. She’s actually engaged.” She smiled. “The big rock around her finger gave that away.”

  Nolan nodded. He had been a detective for far too long to not consider every avenue.

  “What’s his marital status then?” he asked.

  “He’s been divorced ten years now. His ex-wife lives about a two hour drive from here. He has a daughter. We are trying to contact her now.”

  “This reminds me of the old times,” Nolan said.

  “You mean, when you and I used to be partners?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “That was a long time ago,” she said. “Times have changed.”

  “They have,” he said, more to himself than her.

  He walked around the limp hanging body. Freeland’s eyes were closed and his face was pale. Nolan understood that now that Freeland was dead, there was nothing to circulate the blood up, so it drained to the lower levels of the body.

  A stool lay sideways on the floor about a foot away from the body.

  A light sparked inside Nolan’s brain.

  There was something odd about the way the stool lay. It was as if it had been placed there. Anyone trying to kill themselves would have thrashed and kicked as they slowly lost their breath. This looked too… clean.

  Nolan made no comment and began examining the fingers. If there had been any struggle—a possibility Nolan had to scratch off—then it would show up under the fingernails. He found nothing of significance.

  He moved to Freeland’s hands. He noticed slight redness around the wrists.

  He lowered his shades to get a better view, concluded that they looked like bruises.

  He was about to say something when a voice said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Look who's here?”

  He turned to see Detective Angelo Pascale standing by the front door.

  Pascale was an arrogant prick. He walked and talked like he was better than everyone. He was proud that he was a detective and he made sure to let everyone know that. Pascale’s father was a retired Deputy Chief, which may have had something to do with him moving up, but no one could prove otherwise. Pascale kept his thick hair greased back. He always wore a black leather jacket and he always kept a toothpick in the side of his mouth.

  Nolan always commented that he looked more like a Mafioso than a detective. Pascale was Italian, which made Nolan’s comments a bit racist, but Pascale wasn’t helping himself by dressing and behaving the way he did.

  “What’re you doing here, Pascale?” Nolan said.

  “I just came to see the show,” Pascale replied with a grin.

  Nolan knew exactly what he meant. Pascale wanted to see what kind of a fool Nolan would make of himself. Ever since the accident Nolan had taken to the bottle and he had taken to it hard. Even though the majority sympathized with him there were still some—like Pascale—who wanted to see how far he had fallen off the wagon.

  “There is nothing to see here,” Lopez quickly interjected. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

  Pascale laughed. “I do, but this would be more fun.”

  “Get out, Pascale!” Lopez raised her voice. “You wouldn’t want the Captain hearing about this.”

  Pascale laughed again, put his arms up. “I’m leaving. Please don’t report me.”

  When he was gone, Lopez said, “Ignore him. He’s jealous that you’re a better detective than he’ll ever be.”

  Nolan felt a headache coming on.

  The only thing he wanted right now was to get back to the Charger and his drink.

  SIX

  Hyder took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” said a female voice.

  Caroline Dunny was behind the desk reading something. Hyder couldn’t remember if he had ever seen Dunny without makeup. Her lips were always painted bright red, and her hair, which was styled with bangs, was never without highlights. Dunny was petite, but she loved to wear high heels, which mostly included boots that went up to her knees.

  Dunny’s office, on the other hand, was a mess. Papers and other items were scattered everywhere. It sometimes took hours to find anything. Dunny never searched herself. She made one of her assistants dig through the pile instead.

  Hyder always wondered why she didn’t spend the time she spent getting herself more organized, but he never dared say that to her face.

  “Hyder, have a seat,” she said, not looking up from whatever she was reviewing.

  Hyder looked around the office. There was nothing that wasn’t covered in stuff, even the coffee table.

  Dunny looked up.

  “I prefer to stand,” he replied meekly.

  “Do you have anything I can print in tomorrow’s paper?” she asked directly.

  Hyder gulped. “The story didn’t pan out.”

  Dunny dropped what she was doing and leaned back. “Do explain?”

  “Well, the information we received was not… entirely correct.”

  The Daily Times had a sort of agreement with the Franklin Police Department: If anything newsworthy ever occurred, they would, out of professional courtesy, pass on that information to them. In return, if there were stories the force did not want made public right away the newspaper would accommodate them accordingly.

  Naturally, both the force and the newspaper tried to take advantage of this agreement. There would be times where the newspaper would hear about an incident but not tell the force until they had their story. And on the other side, the force would not divulge any information until they were certain it wouldn’t bring any negative light on them.

  Earlier, someone had notified the Daily Times of a robbery at a convenience store.

  Hyder had been sent to get a story. He had returned with nothing.

  “Did a robbery occur or not?” Dunny asked slowly.

  “It did, but…”

  “Then why don’t I have a story?”

  “It wasn’t worth writing about.”

  Dunny leaned forward. “Everything is worth writing about. If someone slips and falls, even if it looks like it is nothing, we will make a story out of it. Was something wrong with the sidewalk? Were the shoes they were wearing defective? Was there a sign anywhere informing the walker of a dangerous condition up ahead? There are stories all around you. It is your job to find what they are.”

  Hyder didn’t have a response.

  Her voice suddenly softened. “Hyder, I know what they call me in this office and quite frankly, it doesn’t bother me one bit. The n
ewspaper industry is changing and it is changing for the worse. Our circulation has gone down almost fifty-percent. Our advertisers are running away in droves. They’ve already forecasted the end of the printed newspaper. It is, therefore, our job to give the readers something they could not get elsewhere, and that is good, solid stories. If we fail to do that then we might as well go find another profession to be in.”

  Hyder fully grasped her point. If he didn’t find stories she could print, he might as well find someplace else to work.

  “Got it, boss,” he finally said.

  SEVEN

  Hyder returned to his desk, completely deflated. He logged into his laptop and began going through his e-mails.

  Twenty minutes later he heard a knock on his cubicle.

  Veronica Ainsworth was in her early forties. She had been with the Daily Times from the moment she had graduated twenty years ago. She had started as an assistant to an assistant and had worked her way up to lead reporter at the city desk. This meant if there was anything big happening, Veronica was the first on the list to cover it.

  “How’d it go with the Killer Bunny?” Veronica asked.

  Hyder made a sad face.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Veronica had always been good to Hyder. She had sort of taken him under her wing. She was very maternal to him, even going out of her way to shield him from Dunny.

  “You should have spoken to me first before going into the lion’s den,” she said.

  “I know,” Hyder replied. “But I thought I could handle it.”

  “Did she give you the speech about her trying to save our industry?”

  “Yeah, she kinda did.”

  “Let me tell you something.” Veronica put her hands on her hips. “When the time comes there is nothing Dunny or anyone else can do to save our jobs, remember that.”

  Hyder hated to admit it, but she was right.

  Hyder had always wanted to tell stories. He’d quickly realized he could tell real stories by becoming a journalist.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “The reason I also came by was to tell you the Mailroom guys were looking for you.”

  “Do you know about what?” Hyder asked, curious.

  “No idea, you’ll have to find out for yourself.”