Act of Fate by John Bishop

Author:John Bishop [Bishop, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

26

CHANGES

MONDAY, APRIL 9, 2001

Lt. Susan Beeson took in a deep breath and heaved out a long sigh as she and I entered the Houston Police Department’s Southwest Substation on Beechnut Street. It was a little after nine on Monday morning, and the atmosphere seemed unusually quiet. Susan explained that most of the detectives had already left the office for field work, a daily necessity to investigate the incessant barrage of Houston homicides. She said the place is packed at eight o’clock every morning for the daily homicide-detectives’ briefing. Most of the men and the one woman besides Susan then departed for their daily routine, which included chasing down potential witnesses to unsolved crimes, initiating investigations and gathering forensic data on recent crimes, collaborating with the district attorney’s office to seek an indictment for a felony, or making an appearance in court, testifying live at trial as the investigating detective.

The Homicide Division was an open, well-lit office with numerous three-sided desk cubicles composed of transportable six-foot-high aluminum dividers lined with pale-blue cloth. There was a fresh coat of white paint on the plaster walls, and numerous windows provided a view of stately oaks and elms, giving the room a pleasant, cozy character. For the past two years, this office had been tobacco-free, as were all City of Houston and Harris County offices. The cinema image of dark, dingy, smoke-filled, yellow-walled rooms with government-issue metal desks was a thing of the past in the decentralized Houston Police Department.

Susan had made time in her hectic schedule to come to University Hospital and sit with me in the waiting room while Jeff Kosar changed Mary Louise’s bandages and adjusted the steel frame holding her left arm together. Jeff seemed to be pleased with the postoperative X-rays and was able to perform the procedure with additional local anesthesia only. I spent a few minutes with Mary Louise in the recovery room, telling her I would be spending the day with Susan and to try very hard to wake up.

Susan dropped her purse on her desk and eyed pictures of her husband and Gene Jr., two people whom she had seen little of lately.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a map of the city.

“This red X is Memorial Bend, where Meredith James was murdered. The other red X is where Mary Louise was injured.”

“Huh. The two sites seem much closer on that map of the City of Houston and Surrounding Area than they do when you’re driving.”

“True, Jim, but if you think about it, the locations aren’t that far apart. Less than two miles.”

Susan looked up, scanned the room, and waved at Capt. Sam Polk. He was at his desk in his private glassed-in cubicle, a luxury reserved for the chief detective of each division. She walked down the central aisle toward his office. I, like a small puppy, knew nothing else to do but follow her. We noticed him staring at his computer screen, punching in data with his right index finger. Although the door was open, Susan knocked.

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