The Only Death that Matters (#9) - paperback

Chapter 1

When Ray Christy stepped into the office, he immediately stopped. Irene Herbison stood there with a look of concern frozen on her face.

“What’s the matter?” Ray asked.

Irene pointed at a silver-haired man sitting behind the reception desk.

Vern Kuehn slouched awkwardly in the chair, which pressed his chin against his chest. Vern was a heavy-set man with a jowly face made worse by this position. His arms hung limply from his sides like two static pendulums.

“Is he dead?” Irene whispered.

Ray Christy frowned. “How should I know?”

“You’re good at this kind of stuff.”

The late afternoon sun beamed through the western windows and bathed the third-floor office in a yellowish haze. Particles of dust floated in the air.

Ray slowly moved around the desk. “He’s probably sleeping.”

They were in the lobby of Volunteer Services, a unit within the Spokane Police Department. Most of the SPD was in the neighboring Public Safety Building or the recently constructed Gardner Building. Only Volunteer Services and a couple of non-standard units remained in the privately owned Monroe Court Building.

An hour before, the entire Volunteer Services office had walked over to the PSB to attend an award ceremony in the department’s roll-call room. Just Vern stuck around to staff the Volunteer Services’ office. Ray wanted that assignment, but Sergeant Newman insisted he go along. The sergeant was concerned about appearances and decided Vern was better suited for staying behind.

After the ceremony, Irene returned immediately to the office with Ray a minute behind. He’d been slowed by a well-meaning chaplain.

Ray held the back of his hand directly above Vern’s mouth.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Irene asked.

“No.” Ray playfully punched Vern in the shoulder. “Wake up, deadbeat.”

Irene walked around the desk to stand next to Ray. She was a petite woman and stood several inches shorter than him. “Maybe his hearing aids are off.”

“At the front desk?”

She shrugged. “It could be what he does. I don’t know him well enough.”

Again, Ray punched Vern in the shoulder—harder this time. “Get up.”

“Should you be hitting him? Maybe he’s dead.”

“He’s not dead.”

“Are you sure?”

Ray grabbed the chair and shook it. Vern slid sideways from his position. The sudden movement caused the man to snort and grunt. His head snapped back, and he popped upright to his feet. He lifted his hands into a boxer’s stance, but no one stood in front of him. Then Vern looked to his left and saw Ray and Irene. His gaze continued down to Ray’s hand, which was still on the back of the chair. “Hey! What’s the big idea?”

“You were asleep.”

Vern’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Irene. She nodded in agreement.

“Did anyone else see?”

“Just us,” Irene said, “but everyone should be headed this way.”

“The award ceremony is over?” Vern plopped into his chair. It groaned its displeasure. The man rubbed his face with both hands. “I guess I should say thank you.”

“No need,” Ray said. “You would have done it for us.”

Now Vern massaged his left shoulder. “Yeah. I guess I would have.”

“Are you okay being on the desk? Can’t have you catching forty winks if the sergeant walks in.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“You sure?” Ray asked.

“I said it won’t happen again.” Vern angrily pulled himself in tight to the desk. He busied himself with some paperwork.

Ray eyed Irene, then jerked his head—a signal for them to leave. They proceeded deeper into the office.
She said, “Vern doesn’t seem to appreciate what we did for him.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“If the sergeant found him, he might have gotten dismissed from the program.”

“I doubt it.” Ray sat at his cubicle. “Others have done worse. Besides, it’s not my problem.”

Irene crossed her arms and leaned against the divider wall. “How’s it not your problem, Ray? You’re head of the program.”

“I’m not the head.”

“Unofficially.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone looks to you as the leader. I know I do.”

“Newman is the leader.”

Irene waggled a manicured finger. “The sergeant is only making time until the next rotation.”

“Marking time. He’s marking time until the next rotation.”

“That’s what I said.” Irene winked. “And Sergeant Newman doesn’t care about this program. As far as he’s concerned, this is some sort of punishment.”

Ray pulled out the volunteer schedule. “I don’t know what he thinks.”

“Yes, you do.” Irene leaned in close to whisper into his ear. “You know a lot about a lot, Ray Christy.” He detected her perfume now. Unlike the other women in the program, she only wore a hint of fragrance, and it could only be smelled when very close. “Stop playing so hard to get.”

He did his best not to make eye contact and concentrated intently on the calendar.

Her breath was warm in his ear. “And you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

When she left, Irene dragged her hand along his shoulders. Ray was happy she was gone. The woman was too damn distracting. All the men in the program thought the same thing—even some of the younger ones.

More voices floated through the office now. The others were returning from the award ceremony.

“Hey, Christy.”

Ray looked up as Sergeant Brandon Newman approached his desk. He crossed his arms and leaned against the cubicle. It was the same position that Irene had taken only moments before.

“Sir?”

“Why’d you take off so quick? Chief Dillon was asking about you. You guys know each other or something?”
Ray held up the scheduling calendar. “I wanted to make sure things are covered for the weekend.”

Newman flicked the piece of paper with a finger. “Why print that off? Use the computer and save a tree.”

“I like it better this way.”

“But it’s not up to date.” The sergeant pointed at a name. “Mel canceled his weekend shifts. Something to do with a hernia, I think.”

“Mel’s got a hernia?”

Newman shrugged. “Or something.”

“Who’s covering his assignments?”

“No one. But it’s not a big deal. Let it slide.”

Mel Dolan was scheduled for two hours of vacation checks on Saturday and Sunday. Citizens could call into the department and request a drive-by of their homes while they were gone. It was a service the Volunteer Services department provided. Mostly, it was Ray’s group since members of the Explorer and Co-Op programs were too busy playing with their phones, and the Reservists were too busy pretending they were cops.
Ray grabbed a pen and lined through Mel’s time slots on both days.

Sergeant Newman said, “Get one of the Explorers to print a new calendar for you.”

“I can print it for myself. I know how to use a computer.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I was only suggesting.” Newman looked up and smiled. “Cake’s here.” He absently patted Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Christy.”

When the sergeant walked away, Ray muttered, “You take it easy.”

Ray stood and looked around. The office teemed with the activity of a celebration. Several of the volunteers carried a large cake, bags of potato chips, and soda bottles. A few college-aged kids laughed and excitedly moved around. Thankfully, none of the high school kids were there—they were still in class.

He disliked it when the office got this way, especially when it was over something he didn’t believe was deserved. He grabbed a set of keys from his top drawer and headed for the exit.

At the front desk, Ray asked Vern Kuehn, “Need anything delivered?”

The heavy-set man exaggeratedly searched his desk. “I don’t think so.”

“Then I’m going out for a bit.”

Vern smiled. “Where to?”

“One of the shops.”

“Which one?”

“Are we married?”

Vern’s smile vanished, and his brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“If anyone asks, I’ll be back in an hour.”

Without waiting for Vern’s reply, Ray slipped out of the Volunteer Services office.

***

A male voice called out in the parking lot, “Hey, Ray! Hold up.”

Ray stopped and searched for the voice. He found its owner—Chief Liam Dillon—talking with a woman in a suit. Dillon lifted a finger for Ray to wait.

He slowly walked in the direction of the chief. Dillon was about twenty years younger and built like an aging linebacker. His bald head gleamed in the morning sun.
The chief broke away from his conversation and approached with a smile. “How you doing, my friend?” He extended his hand, and Ray shook it.

“I’m good, Chief.”

“We’ve talked about this, Ray. Call me Liam. No one’s around.”

“You’re in uniform, sir. It’s old habit.”

“Roger that.” Dillon put his arm around Ray’s shoulder and smiled genuinely. “When I’m out of uniform, it’s Liam. I missed you after the award ceremony.”

“I’m sorry about that. I had to leave to take care of some errands.”

“Is that where you’re headed now?”

Ray nodded. “Unless you need me to do something. I can put it on hold for a bit.”

“No, no. Do what you’ve gotta do.” Dillon removed his arm from Ray’s shoulders. He kept his hand on Ray’s upper arm, though. It was a friendly gesture, much the way Ray used to do with his father. “We haven’t gotten coffee or lunch in a while, and I’d love to catch up. How’s next week?”

“I’m free most days.”

The chief pulled his phone from a back pocket and consulted it. “I can’t do Monday.” He looked up. “Let’s do lunch on Tuesday. My treat.”

Ray smiled. “That sounds fine.”

“Then it’s a date.” The chief’s fingers bounced over his phone’s screen. “Swing by my office on Tuesday around noon. I’ll drive.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Maybe we can try that new barbecue joint downtown.” Dillon patted Ray’s upper arm. “Good to see you, pal. Until next week.”

Ray watched him head into the Monroe Court Building.