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

something?”
    “Just that we’re boys, and we’re weird,” I said.
    “Boys with graying hair?” Shay asked with a smirk.
    “It’s mostly still umber, thank you very much,” I said. “And I don’t see you giving Quinto any guff for losing the majority of his.”
    “Hey, I’m not balding,” said Quinto. “I like my buzz cut, that’s all. It’s easy to maintain.”
    I thought about challenging that notion, but I spotted Boatreng and his shiny dome enter through the precinct’s wide double doors. While baldness jokes would roll of the big guy’s shoulders like gnat spit, the same remarks around our sketch artist wouldn’t come across as quite so jocular.
    Shay spotted him, too, and hailed him as he approached. “Boatreng. Were you able to find the girl?”
    “Sure did,” he said. “And I think I’ve got a pretty good representation for you. Although…”
    “Although, what?” asked Steele. “The young lady wasn’t easy to work with?”
    “No. It’s…nothing.” The short, stubble-chinned man reached into his satchel and produced a page, which he handed to Steele.
    She glanced at the pencil drawing and pursed her lips. “Well, it’s an old guy, all right. Grouchy and grizzled, just as the waitress said.”
    Boatreng stood there, silent but hesitant, as if waiting for our approval. He wasn’t the most chatty of individuals. Normally, he delivered the fruits of his labors and retreated to his desk, so I couldn’t understand why he hung back—until Shay handed me the page.
    I blinked as I stared at it. Then I blinked again. Then I felt my lips pucker, and I glanced at Boatreng. He’d been around for a few years. He would’ve made the connection.
    He noticed the look in my eyes. “So I’m not crazy. You see it, too.”
    I nodded.
    “See what?” asked Rodgers. He snatched the drawing from my fingers.
    “Tell me I’m wrong. That we’re wrong.” I gave myself and Boatreng the finger treatment.
    Rodgers eyed the sketch, and Quinto peered at it over his shoulder. Rodgers’ brow drew together. “It can’t be.”
    “But it looks just like him, doesn’t it?” I said.
    Quinto nodded. “A dead ringer.”
    Shay hopped off her desk and approached the pair. “What are you guys talking about? Who is this?”
    Quinto ignored her and turned to Boatreng. “Any chance you put some of these details in subconsciously?”
    Boatreng looked offended. “Please. I’m more disciplined than that.”
    Shay swiped the drawing from Rodgers and took another gander at it. “Seriously, what are you all going on about?”
    I took a deep breath, my mind swirling with freshly hatched thoughts. “Look, Steele. You wouldn’t know because you haven’t been around long enough. But the guy in that drawing? That’s the man you replaced. That’s my ex-partner. Griggs.”
     

12
    I stood in front of a three story hunk of cinderblock, a building with as much charm and compassion as my former partner had. The sky glimmered with faint hints of pastel pink, orange, and deep blue. Beyond the thin veil of colors shimmered a sea of stars, just starting to make their presence known in the deepening gloom. I let out a breath in the cold, still air, and fog formed a cloud in front of my nose. An overnight freeze seemed inevitable.
    “So this is Griggs’ place?” Rodgers stared at the dull gray walls.
    “Sure is,” I said. “Or at least it was when he retired. Actually, scratch that. It was the last time I visited him before he retired, which was about two years ago. But I doubt he moved. This cold, sterile block of masonry that vaguely resembles a habitat for sentient beings fits him like a glove.”
    “Oh, come on,” said Quinto, his coat wrapped tightly around his midsection. “He wasn’t that bad.”
    “You need to get your memory checked,” I said. “I hear the department health plan covers that now.”
    “Curmudgeon or not, he was your partner,” said Rodgers.
    “Exactly,” I said. “Which means I