Flame Out by M. P. Cooley Page A

there’s rarely a need for it.”
    Dismissed by Norm, the chief reluctantly returned to the station for a press conference, and I went to Dave’s, buying him a coffee anda raspberry-filled donut to soak up the alcohol. I rang his bell twice, the chimes echoing through his old Victorian, but he didn’t answer. I wrote him a note: “Thinking of you, call when you recover from the bottle of Stoli,” and put the coffee and donut next to his door.
    I arrived at the station to find the press clustered in the lobby, amiably chatting with Lorraine. The reporter from the Troy Record waved, and several of the reporters called to me—my last case had put us on a first-name basis, unfortunately. The chief’s door opened, and he peeked around the corner and then ducked back, out of the sight line of the press, and frantically waved me over.
    â€œWrangle Batko for me, will you?” Dave sat in one of the chief’s visitor’s chairs, his feet on the desk. “I’ll illuminate the fourth estate on recent developments.”
    Dave appeared incredibly fit for someone who had spent the night drinking himself unconscious. He strained for a smile, too wide and almost painful.
    â€œHello, Lyons.”
    â€œDave, you shouldn’t be here.”
    â€œWhen we have two cases to solve? How could I leave now?”
    â€œYou should try the window if you want to avoid the press.”
    â€œBefore I give you a present, Lyons?” He held a slip of paper in front of him, waving it back and forth. “I put together a list of Mom’s known associates.”
    I reached for the paper, and he pulled it behind his back. I was trying to be kind, but he needed to leave—right now. In the same firm tone I used on Lucy that time she tried to coax a wild rabbit into the house using a trail of carrots, I said, “Dave, it’s been one day. Go spend time with your brother, your aunt.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Let me take care of everything for you.”
    â€œI can—”
    Outside, the press got loud, calling out “Chief! Chief!” I used the distraction to grab the paper. He jumped up, ready to make a grab for it, when the door opened. It was my father.
    Dave stopped his assault, walking toward my father. “Chief Lyons. You’re here.”
    My dad threw an arm over Dave’s shoulder, quite a display for a man who was more of a handshake kind of guy.
    My dad held out a Price Chopper bag, an apple crushing a sandwich through the plastic. “June forgot her lunch.”
    In no universe would I expect my father to bring me lunch. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he raised one right back.
    â€œDave needs lunch. Or maybe breakfast,” I said. “Why don’t you two get something to eat?”
    Chief Donnelly returned. He didn’t come in, holding the door open. “You need to leave, Batko. You too, Gordon. We’ll take your statements later.”
    â€œLike we’re nothing more than witnesses,” Dave said.
    â€œYou’re so much more than that, which is why you can’t be here.” Donnelly waved them out. “Go home.”
    Dave was holding fast, but Dad relented.
    â€œC’mon, Dave. Lemme buy you a pancake.” Dad guided Dave to the door. “Between the two of us, I bet we can come up with some new leads.”
    Donnelly shut the door behind them, walked behind the desk and made a call.
    â€œAll clear,” he said and hung up.
    I dropped into his guest chair. “That was cryptic. Who’d you call?”
    â€œSpecial Agent Bascom. I told him to wait outside until Batko hit the road. Didn’t want Dave to feel shoved out the door.” Personally I would have called it dragging rather than shoving, but I did want to be sensitive to Dave’s feelings. “I give Dave and your dad twenty-four hours before they’re trying to solve this case, so you two should move forward with,