Free Shay O'Hanlon Caper 03 - Pickle in the Middle Murder by Jessie Chandler. Page B

fourteen—” before his words were cut off as the door clicked shut.
    Between Coop and Rocky, Officer C. Chevalier would be well entertained until I returned. With luck, the distraction would make it much less likely that she’d call anyone else to let them know I was on the way up.
    I took the stairs two at a time and burst into the squad room. Praise be, the place was devoid of life. I scuttled over to Tyrell’s desk, and sure enough, still laying on top of his mess was Krasski’s file. With a quick inhale, stale coffee, old building, and fear of getting caught played over my senses. My hand hovered over the manila folder, and I again darted glances all around. The room was still as empty as it had been a moment before.
    I was tempted to grab the entire file and run but quickly reconsidered. My lungs froze as I flipped the cover open. Paper-clipped to the inside was a mug shot of the same man I found in the privy—minus the pickle protruding from his mouth and with his entire skull intact, of course. I tore my eyes away from the photo and focused on the rest of the papers that were stacked none-too-neatly within.
    The first pages were police reports. I rapidly scanned through them but didn’t see what I was looking for. I really wanted to find a note titled KRASSKI ENEMIES. Or, to make it even clearer, something with a nice, neat rundown of who wanted Krasski dead. Fat chance of that.
    The next few pages were newspaper clippings starring the bad boy himself. He’d been hairline deep in a number of nefarious criminal activities. Started his criminal career when he was in elementary school and got nailed hotwiring the principal’s car. Damn. He must have had terrible influences growing up.
    My heart hammered so hard I had to stop every couple of seconds and make sure I didn’t miss the sound of someone coming through one of the numerous doors that led into the room. I hauled in a frazzled breath and again refocused on the file. I quickly flipped through a copy of the restraining order Krasski had taken out against JT. I still couldn’t believe that he’d managed to secure a restraining order, or that she’d never told me. When I got mad enough, it was an out-of-body experience. Like watching a movie that starred me through the red haze of anger and panic. JT should have known I’d be on her side against this monster, that I would understand.
    Frustration made me want to growl or cry. Maybe both. That line of thought wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good, so I shoved it away and kept sorting through the file.
    My ears were pricked for the slightest sound of returning cop, and the muscles in my legs and back were so tense they trembled. There were only a few more items in the folder, and I was pretty damn certain this dumbass plan was hatched for nothing. I scanned yet another report that meant nothing to me. As I flipped the page, I spied a tattered sheet of paper torn from a spiral-bound notebook.
    I again scanned the room, then refocused on the creased page. I recognized JT’s handwriting. In neat, precise block letters she’d printed KNOWN KRASSKI ASSOCIATES. Below it she’d made a list of names in a column. After a few of the names, she’d made notes about where they lived and their status. Three of them had lines drawn through them, and I wondered if that meant they were locked up or dead.
    Then a terrible, yet sickly amusing thought hit me. What if the people who’d been crossed out had been murdered? Maybe JT was pulling a Dexter and killing off the baddies in a misguided attempt at justice. Maybe she was a serial killer killer. I almost snorted in demented laughter. I considered cramming the sheet in my pocket and hightailing my ass right out of there.
    The sound of two voices filtered in from the door that led to the kitchen, where Tyrell had gotten me coffee last night. I froze, one arm outstretched as I reached for a pen to use to jot down the names.
    Holy shit.
    The voices were closer now, right