Speak the Dead by Grant McKenzie Page A

“I received a phone call. He didn’t leave a name.”
    Jersey reached up and pinched the flesh between his eyebrows. “An anonymous call? You expect me to buy that?”
    â€œYeah, it’s the truth. There was no Caller ID either. I checked ’cause he sounded kinda creepy.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    Peter shrugged. “He made these slurping sounds, like he was speaking through a mouthful of spit.”
    â€œAnd what did he say?”
    â€œJust that you were—”
    â€œHe mentioned me by name?”
    â€œYeah. Detective Castle.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œHe said you were at the funeral home and you were doing stuff to the bodies.”
    â€œDoing stuff?” Jersey asked.
    â€œYeah, interfering he called it. Interfering with the bodies.”
    â€œSo you called the mayor?”
    â€œWell, I mean what would you do? Christ, those are my parents.”
    â€œDid he mention anything about a message?” Jersey asked.
    â€œA message? No. What message?”
    Jersey turned to his partner. “I’m done. You can shoot him now.”

24
    I n the car, Amarela chuckled.
    â€œThe look on his face was priceless,” she said. “I thought he was going to shit himself.”
    Jersey rubbed the knot between his eyes again. “He’s probably already on the phone to the mayor’s son, who’ll tell the mayor, who’ll tell the commander, who’ll tell the lieutenant, who’ll—”
    â€œTake us off the case that he’s already taken us off of?” Amarela asked.
    Jersey grinned. “Something like that.”
    â€œSo we should avoid going into the office, then?”
    Jersey’s grin grew wider.
    as they traveled back across town, Amarela asked, “So what do you know about the insurance on his parents?”
    â€œNothing. It was a bluff. I took what you said about the money coming in handy and thought ‘what the hell.’ Even if he’s completely innocent, his parents dying at a time when he needs the dough is bound to make anyone feel guilty.”
    â€œIt made him a sweat a bit.”
    â€œI noticed that, too.”
    Jersey shared Sally’s late-night theory about a killer being hired to murder the wife, but then double-crossing the husband.
    â€œNice theory, but instead of a double-cross, what if the killer was hired by the son instead?” said Amarela. “Both parents dead in an apparent murder-suicide, the kid inherits, and everyone gets paid.”
    Jersey squeezed the steering wheel. “And if you have the right contacts to skip the autopsy, the bodies are buried before anyone becomes suspicious.”
    â€œAnd no one is suspicious,” began Amarela.
    â€œExcept us,” finished Jersey.
    Amarela stared out the window in silence for a few moments before adding in a quizzical tone, “And why are we suspicious again?”
    Jersey laughed. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
    On the second floor of the four-story building, Jersey knocked on Sally’s apartment door.
    When there was no answer, he pressed his ear to the wood. He could hear the low drone of a television inside.
    He knocked again. Still no answer.
    â€œShe could’ve gone out shopping or something,” said Amarela.
    â€œShe was tired,” said Jersey. “She’s only been home about two hours.”
    â€œOh?” Amarela queried.
    â€œWe went for coffee and muffins. Nothing devious.”
    â€œMuffins? You are a teddy bear.”
    Jersey groaned. “Don’t give me a hard time for being normal. What was up with Dawn of the Dead Barbie at your place? I thought you and Clarissa split.”
    â€œShort story,” said Amarela. “I was horny.”
    Jersey blanched and knocked on the door again. This time he heard a cat’s meow.
    â€œI would say that’s probable cause,” said Amarela with a snicker. She reached out and turned the door