Free Crucible Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 5) by Alex P. Berg Page A

cupped her chin, her index finger occasionally stroking the firm line of her jaw as she thought.
    We’d collected the grand sum of our collected evidence onto the pockmarked face of the board, but it could only showcase what we’d uncovered. A red pin affixed Barrett’s sketch to the cork, and while we’d pieced together a crude timeline of his activities during the past day, a huge patch of nothing still stretched from after the end of his workday to the point at which we found him, with only his window of death there to break the monotony.
    I sighed. “You know, for as much legwork as we put in today, we sure didn’t discover a whole lot.”
    Shay kept her eyes on the board. “We discovered Barrett’s identity, which was no small feat. And we’ll have a lead on his associate—or perhaps his killer—once Boatreng returns.”
    “Which will undoubtedly mean more walking,” I said. “Lots and lots of walking, and the showing of pictures, and hoping that someone recognizes a sketch pulled from the mind of a flighty young waitress.”
    “It might not be that bad. One of Barrett’s acquaintances or co-workers might recognize who it is.”
    I grunted in response.
    Steele gave me an over the shoulder glance. “It’s funny. You claim to love this job, and yet to the unbiased observer…”
    “I know,” I said. “And I do love it, for the most part. But I love it more when we catch the perps and less when my feet ache. And even less on payday. My checks are often stained with my tears.”
    Steele chuckled and turned back to the board.
    A thought hit me. “Speaking of acquaintances…surely Barrett had someone of at least moderate specialness in his life? A girlfriend or a wife, most likely. If we could track her down, I’m sure that would go a long way towards finding his killer.”
    “Not likely,” said Steele. “You saw his apartment, right?”
    “Through my own dull, jaded eyes, yes,” I said with a frown. “Why? What did you notice?”
    Shay shrugged. “Nothing specific. But even through the chaos, I could tell that was a bachelor pad. Still, I suppose he could’ve divorced. Did you check the T and R files?”
    She meant Taxation and Revenue. I looked for the folder, then recalled I’d left it on Rodgers’ desk. With an exaggerated groan, I lifted myself up, retrieved the file, and brought it back.
    I stuck my nose in it. “Well, no record of a marriage here. Nor any deductions for dependants, so I’m guessing he doesn’t have any kids. Maybe we could track down his next of kin.”
    “Given his age, though,” said Steele, “his parents are probably dead. So we’d have to try to find a sibling, if he has any. We’ll stop by Public Records in the morning. It’s probably a little late to head there now.”
    Heavy footsteps drew my attention out of the file. Quinto and Rodgers approached, their noses pink and their hands stuffed deep in their pockets.
    “There you are,” I said.
    “Let me guess,” said Rodgers. “You found the restaurant?”
    Shay shifted so she could get a better look at the guys. “Didn’t the runner find you?”
    “A runner?” Quinto locked eyes with Rodgers and shook his head.
    “And he seemed like such a trustworthy kid,” I said. “He had shoes and everything.”
    Rodgers pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. “You know, I’m not even sure why we try. Anytime Quinto and I split up to investigate the same thing you do, you invariably wrap it up first. We should just send you out and put our efforts somewhere else entirely.”
    “I’m not going to lie, the taste of success is sweet,” I said. “It’s like a delectable golden beverage, with dancing bubbles on the tip of my tongue, all provided free of charge.”
    Quinto snorted. “Well, I think that success is a little less sweet and a lot less free when your partner is involved.”
    Rodger nodded his agreement, and I shook my head.
    Steele lifted a brow. “Am I missing