Free The Ten-Mile Trials by Elizabeth Gunn

might have to put a brave face on this for the public, but let’s not bullshit each other. We’re barely staying afloat now – I’ve been begging for more resources since last fall. Take away twenty percent and there are some calls you’ll never get answered. Starting today, we’re going to quit having weekly meetings. LeeAnn’s setting up an in-house email site, and the three of us – you and I and Ray – are going to publish any changes to rules and regs, useful sources, late-breaking news, and helpful hints. And everybody’s got to read it every day.’
    â€˜A house organ! My God, isn’t that original? What are you going to call it, Uncle Jake’s journal?’
    â€˜Go fuck yourself! This is not a joke, can’t you get that through your head? After you’ve thought about who gets dumped back down to patrol, you and Ray and I – if there’s time – will have one last meeting and prioritize.’
    â€˜Oh, now there’s something to look forward to, a prioritizing session with Ray Bailey.’ He beetled his brows, screwed his mouth down at the corners, and growled, ‘Laptops and trail bikes can wait, goddammit, but we can’t let a stiff lie around till we get to him.’ His imitation of Ray’s voice was pretty fair, I thought, but he could not twist his self-satisfied face to within a country mile of the legendary Bailey gloom.
    â€˜Go easy on Ray,’ I said. ‘He caught a real pisser of a case Friday night. I helped him all I could, but he’s been working nonstop both days. Something else is bothering him, too, but I haven’t figured out what it is.’
    â€˜Oh, well, I can clear that up for you.’ He glanced into the hall to be sure nobody was coming, leaned across the desk and hissed, ‘The poor old dork’s in love!’
    â€˜In love? Ray Bailey? With . . .’ I puckered. ‘Whom?’
    â€˜Oh, my gracious, whom ? And from whence, you want that too? Whence is right down the road in Mantorville, and whom is that dowdy little waitress who was keeping house for the long-haul driver. The one you found shot and half-naked in a snowbank a couple of years back. Remember? The body under the overpass, and his eighteen-wheeler in two other places?’
    â€˜You serious? That woman who was so devastated? What was her name? Cathy something. Was it Niemeyer?’
    â€˜Yes. Doesn’t it figure? The saddest woman you’d ever met, you told me.’
    â€˜Well, Ray and I were both impressed by how much she cared about the guy. So Ray’s been seeing her all this time and never said—?’
    â€˜Oh, it’s even more Charles Dickens than that, Jake. They haven’t been dating at all. He’s just been driving out to Mantorville once or twice a week to see if she needs anything. He’s never asked for anything in return. Giving her time to finish her grieving, he said.’
    â€˜Jeez. That’s so . . .’ I couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t sound embarrassing.
    â€˜Touching. I know. Especially coming from Stone-Face Man. Some time in the last couple of months he finally screwed up his courage to ask her out to dinner.’
    â€˜How do you know all this?’
    â€˜He’s friends with a couple of my detectives. He worked a long time in Property Crimes, remember. They sit around with a six-pack on Friday nights and tell stories about matching up rifling marks and heel imprints.’ He rolled his eyes up to express despair over squandered Friday nights.
    â€˜And they actually tell each other about their dates? Like back in Junior High?’ Not for the first time, one of Kevin’s stories was making me helplessly hilarious. ‘Jeez, I can’t remember the last time anybody told me good stuff like that!’
    â€˜You don’t hang out in the right tree houses any more, Jake. You’ve been busy with