Free Tangled Souls by Jana Oliver

family. Their son was the kid who hung himself over at the LeClaire.”
    “Okay, that one. Bender and Coolidge were the investigating officers.” Adam pointed toward two heavyset men.
    “The family’s missing a rosary; it’s an heirloom and they’d like to try to track it down,” O’Fallon said lightly. He watched the young detective’s face. The only reaction was a quick double blink of his eyes.
    Adam’s partner hung up the phone and rose from his chair.
    “This is Harve Glass, my partner,” Adam said, beginning the introductions. “Harve, this is—”
    “So just who are you?” Glass challenged. Adam started to speak, but his partner cut him off. “You stay quiet and let him answer.” The younger detective’s jaw tightened. It sounded like a rebuke delivered to a child.
    O’Fallon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m Doug O’Fallon, and once upon a time I wore a badge just like you. Except I was a lot more polite, especially to my own partner.”
    Glass’s mouth twitched. “Private dicks aren’t welcome here.”
    O’Fallon smirked. Tempting as it was, he decided not to make a scene. “Really? I’m shocked,” he said in a joking tone. That generated a deep frown from the cop.
    “I’m not in the mood for this.”
    “Funny, neither am I.”
    As the two men eyed each other, an unnatural stillness crept through the room. O’Fallon knew the other detectives were watching this confrontation with a wary eye. How often did someone challenge Glass?
    “Doug’s here to talk to Bender and Coolidge,” Adam interjected. To his credit, he didn’t rush the words, but made them sound nonchalant. O’Fallon gave him points for coolness under pressure.
    “It’s best you leave,” Glass said, ignoring his partner.
    “I will, when I’m finished.”
    The man’s face reddened, and a twitch began at the corner of his mouth. “Now,” he said, pointing toward the door with a beefy hand.
    O’Fallon ignored the command and turned toward his best friend’s son, letting his cold expression melt into a warm smile. “Good to see you again, Adam.” He paused and added, “I’m really sorry to see you’re stuck with an asshole for a partner.” As he turned away, an expletive exploded from Glass’s mouth. O’Fallon didn’t bother to answer, but headed like a heat-seeking missile toward the two cops in the corner.
    As if Glass had set the tone for the room, they didn’t look friendly either.
    In five minutes O’Fallon was back in his car with little information to show for the time spent. Detectives Bender and Coolidge denied seeing the rosary, both blaming the hotel manager. Deep in his gut, O’Fallon knew they were lying.
    * * *
     
    “About damned time!” the voice shouted.
    “Yeah, yeah, give me a break,” O’Fallon grumbled as he hauled in his mail. “At least let me get in the door, will you?”
    “No break, no break!” the voice shot back.
    It belonged to a large African gray parrot marching along a heavy wooden pole in a sizable cage. It was a handsome bird with light-gray plumage, which terminated in magnificent red tail feathers. As O’Fallon locked the door and dumped his mail onto the spotless kitchen counter, he knew that Seamus’s keen black eyes tracked his every movement.
    “Yo, dude!”
    “I hear you,” he said as he scanned the pile of mail: two bills, a few catalogs, and his favorite Irish magazine. “Better than most days.”
    The light on the answering machine blinked repeatedly, but he paid it no heed. Until he’d seen to Seamus, there would be no chance to hear the messages. He shut off the television; today his housekeeper had left it on the History Channel.
    “Spring me! Spring me!” Seamus called as O’Fallon headed for the bedroom. He ignored the bird and shucked his clothes, returning in a worn, dark-blue tracksuit. O’Fallon deftly worked the tumbler lock on the cage. Left to his own devices, the bird was a feathered Houdini.
    “Seven . . . four . . . nine . . .