Free Red Line by Brian Thiem Page A

hundred pounds.
    Hayes lunged toward him and swung a roundhouse punch toward his head. Sinclair skipped back onto his left foot and parried the blow with his hand as it passed by inches in front of his face.
    Hayes’s momentum, along with Sinclair’s parry, pulled Hayes off balance and left his right side exposed. Sinclair pivoted on his left foot, cocked his right foot into his thigh, and with years of training behind him, unleashed a side kick to Hayes’s rib cage, just under his right armpit.
    Hayes grunted and doubled over. Slowly, he straightened up again and took a step toward Sinclair. Sinclair stepped into him with his left foot and threw a straight punch into Hayes’s face. Sinclair heard the satisfying crunch of bone. Hayes dropped to his knees, looked up at Sinclair for a second, and then collapsed to the ground.

Chapter 13
    An hour later, Sinclair and Braddock returned to the murder scene. The body was gone, as were half of the officers. Lieutenant Maloney, dressed in a navy blue sport coat and tie, was talking to a tall black man wearing black slacks, a black polo, and a black windbreaker. Even though regulations required those on duty to wear a uniform or a coat and tie, the chief of police figured he could wear whatever he wanted when he visited a crime scene at night. The arrogance of the chief thinking his rank afforded him special privileges irked Sinclair.
    “The man you went after isn’t the killer, but you decided to smash his face anyway,” said Chief Clarence Brown.
    Sinclair wanted to point out the obvious: that had they known Hayes wasn’t involved, they wouldn’t have wasted their time with him, but he kept his mouth shut. After Sinclair had taken Hayes down, Rose’s partner handcuffed him while Braddock attended to Rose and called for ambulances. Paramedics suspected Hayes had several broken ribs, a broken nose, and a fractured cheekbone. They transported him to the county hospital with a police escort. One of Lieutenant Beck’s district sergeants arrived, tookSinclair’s statement, and did the use-of-force investigation and paperwork, required any time an officer puts a suspect in the hospital.
    Meanwhile, Braddock had searched the Ford van and interviewed Hayes’s mother and uncle, both of whom had been in the kitchen drinking coffee when the police knocked at the door. The mother said Hayes was at the Salvation Army the night Zachary was killed and had been home since midnight. It was Mrs. Hayes’s brother who had driven the van to the crack house an hour ago to pay Hayes’s drug debt so the local dope dealers would leave the family alone. Braddock verified his alibi for both nights with a few phone calls.
    “Chief,” said Braddock. “Tyrone Hayes has a ten-page rap sheet. He’s the size of a refrigerator. If I was in Matt’s place, I would’ve had to shoot him.”
    “And the story lead would say, Petite female detective attacked by convicted serial rapist—forced to shoot to save her life . Instead, we’ll see, Sergeant Sinclair, with three notches on his gun already, kicks and punches man in the face during homicide investigation .”
    Sinclair focused on Brown’s shaved head glistening under the streetlights, wondering if he waxed it to create that shine.
    “How’s the officer?” Brown asked.
    “His name is Officer Rose,” said Sinclair. “He’s getting X-rays of his shoulder at the hospital. It didn’t look good, and he twisted his ankle when he fell.”
    “What’s the meaning of these necklaces that your lieutenant told me about?”
    “We don’t know yet, Chief.” Sinclair wasn’t about to tell him about his theory, only to hear the chief challenge it as guesswork and speculation.
    “Who is this woman? Is there a connection between her and the doctor’s son?”
    “All we have so far is CDL info on the woman. We don’t know any connection.”
    Chief Brown ignored Sinclair and turned to Maloney. “I don’t need to tell you that this shit will hit