through college.”
Dwight shook his head. “Do the math, Jack. Divide
a quarter million by eighteen years. Cindy won’t have
enough left to pay your son’s application fees.”
By the determined look on Jamison’s face, his mind
was clearly made up.
“So. The end of next week?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. I’m really sorry you feel you need to do this,
but notify human resources and make sure your paper-
work’s caught up.”
Jamison came to his feet. “Thank you, Major. And I
181
MARGARET MARON
really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, making me
a detective and all. Maybe when I get back . . .”
“We’ll see. You’re not gone yet though, and I expect
another full week of work from you, so get out there
and see what you can dig up on the Harris murder.”
182
C H A P T E R
21
Deborah Knott
Tuesday Morning, March 7
% Because I had nearly forty-five minutes to kill after
leaving Dwight and Reid, I stopped by the dis-
patcher’s desk out in the main lobby where Faye Myers
was on duty.
Faye’s in her early thirties, a heavyset blonde who strains
every seam of her uniform. She has a pretty face, a flaw-
less complexion that seems to glow from within, and the
good-hearted friendliness of a two-month-old puppy. She’s
married to Flip Myers, an equally plump EMS tech, and
between them, they have a finger on almost every emer-
gency call in the county, which means she also has the best
gossip—not from maliciousness but because she genuinely
likes people and finds them endlessly fascinating.
183
MARGARET MARON
“New hairdo?” I asked with what I hoped was a guile-
less tone. “Looks nice.”
She immediately touched her shining curls. “Well,
thank you, Judge. No, it’s the same style I’ve had since
Thanksgiving. I did get a trim yesterday but I might
should’ve waited ’cause this wet weather’s making it
curl up more than usual.”
