Free Deserves to Die by Lisa Jackson

charge. He’s going down for murder.”
    The doors opened and they stepped into the wide hallway, again brightly lit and complete with alcoves, benches and chairs, and a wide nurse’s station at the center of it all.
    They walked up to the desk and a woman seated at a computer looked up. Pescoli showed her badge and said, “Detective Regan Pescoli, Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department. This is my partner Detective Alvarez. We have some questions about . . . about the sheriff . . . Dan Grayson . . . and what happened to him. We’d like to talk to the supervisor of the floor and his doctor, whoever was in charge of his care.”
    Alvarez’s gaze shifted to Pescoli, whose green eyes shifted in hue with the light.
    Under the glare of the hospital’s illumination they were a light jade color and hard as stone. Athletic and tall, with sharp features and a penetrating gaze, she was intimidating. An ex-basketball player, Pescoli wasn’t afraid to get into anyone’s face and bore more than her share of battle scars as a no-nonsense police officer and single mother. She was glaring at the small, nervous-looking nurse behind the desk as if the poor woman was a hardened criminal.
    “I’ll get Rinalda, uh, Mrs. Dash. She’s in charge,” the girl behind the desk said.
    Before either of the detectives could thank her, a booming female voice carried up the hall. “Is there a problem, Stephanie?”
    In her peripheral vision, Alvarez caught a glimpse of a slim woman quickly approaching. Tall, African-American with close-cropped hair and an expression that was as stern as Pescoli’s, she stopped at the desk. “I’m Rinalda Dash.” With her height, she actually looked down at Pescoli. “What can I help you with?”
    Again, Pescoli flashed her badge and introduced them both. “We’re here about Dan Grayson, who was your patient. We’d like to know what happened.”
    “We all would,” Nurse Dash said solemnly. “And we’re looking into it as we do with all unexpected deaths. There’s a place where we can talk more privately,” she said, indicating a small niche near a bank of windows. Complete with a square of carpet, a coffee table, bench, fake ficus tree, and two side chairs, the spot offered little privacy, but it would have to do.
    To the nurse behind the desk, the supervisor said, “Stephanie, page Dr. Zingler, please. See if he’s still in the building. I’m sure the detectives would like to speak to him, as well.” She gave Pescoli a patient but firm smile as she led them into the alcove. “Believe me, we will find out what exactly caused the sheriff’s death.”
     
     
    Blackwater held a meeting in the conference room, which not only opened from the hallway but from his office as well. Everyone who worked for the department and currently not on the road was required to attend. One person in each department was to man the phones and he expected the meeting to be short, but he owed it to the officers, those who had worked under Dan Grayson, to explain the situation as best he knew it. He stood before the deputies, secretaries, volunteers, detectives, and various officers and met all of their solemn gazes with his own.
    “This is a bleak day for the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department,” he began at the podium. “A difficult time for all of us, most of you more than me, as you had the honor of working with Sheriff Dan Grayson much longer than I did. We all respected him. He was a man who walked tall among men, a fair and just man, a man with a steely determination balanced by his compassion and quick wit. He would want, no, he would expect, all of us to continue working here for the good of Pinewood County, to protect and serve its citizens, and so we shall.
    “That doesn’t mean that I, as the acting sheriff, will not expend every effort to find out what happened at the hospital, and if there were extenuating circumstances regarding his death. I promise each and every one of you that the person