Read Raising Cain for Free Online

He’d worked a dairy farm and driven an eighteen-wheeler,
     but those vocations hadn’t rung his bell. Then he tried law enforcement. That profession, he decided, was a keeper.
    Davis had just hit the bottom step when he encountered Brownie on the way up. “
Sergeant
.”
    Brownie stopped but didn’t reply. He was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket, unshaven and unkempt.
    “Sorry about your loss,” Davis said.
    Brownie glared at him through bleary eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Frank.”
    “Thought you were on leave.”
    “Does it look like I am?”
    Davis didn’t answer.
    “I’ve got work to do.” Brownie mounted a step. “Nice chatting with you.”
    Davis let him pass, then called out from behind: “Don’t worry about the case.”
    Brownie stopped and turned around. “
What
case?”
    “Investigation of your dad’s, uh…
death
.”
    Brownie grabbed the rail for support. “What are you
talking
about, Frank?”
    “Lieutenant gave it to me.”
    “What?”
    “I’m on it. Don’t worry.”
    “You?”
    “Yeah. Apparently there’s no quota system on cases. They decided to give the white guy a chance.”
    Brownie’s nostrils flared.
    “You’re not the only Sherlock Holmes around here.”
    Brownie wanted to rush down and deck him, but the bastard wasn’t worth it. He turned and ran up the stairs.
    “Don’t worry!” Davis yelled. “I’m on the
case
!”
    But Brownie had already passed through the front door on his way to see Lieutenant Harvis.
    Davis parked his squad car at the Blocktown senior center. It was almost dark, and lights were flicking on along the narrow
     commercial strip. In the west, the mountain range arched against the amber sky like a slate tsunami.
    Davis walked to the center and knocked. He was greeted by an elderly black gentleman and admitted into the outer hall. The
     man wore glasses and a hearing aid. He looked about eighty.
    “Are you Ernie Jones?” Davis asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’m here about Mr. Brown.”
    Jones lowered his eyes.
    “You were with him yesterday?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “What time was that?” The officer removed a pad from his breast pocket.
    “Afternoon.”
    “What
time
?” Davis tapped his watch.
    “Two o’clock. Round two o’clock.”
    Frank wrote it down. “And what time did you last see him?”
    “Playin’ checkers,” Ernie replied.
    “When did you
stop
playing checkers?” Davis raised his voice.
    “I went home ‘bout four-fifteen, four-thirty. Bus picked me up.”
    Frank took a breath. “What time did Mr. Brown leave here?”
    “Before me. We finished the last game after he left.”
    Davis wrote “Plus or minus 4:30” on the pad. “Do you know where he went?”
    Concern flickered in Ernie’s eyes. “No. I don’t know a thing about
that
.”
    “He went somewhere,” Davis said. “He didn’t go
home
.” According to his calculations, the last four hours of Joseph’s life were still unaccounted for. “You
know
, don’t you?”
    Ernie took a step backward. “No, sir. I don’t.”
    Davis moved toward him. “Don’t
lie
to me, Mr. Jones. What kind of hank-panky was he up to?”
    Ernie took another step backward. “Nothin’. He never done
nothin
’!”
    Frank gave him a skeptical look. The man was protesting too much. Maybe there was something here after all. The doctors insisted
     a heart attack had taken Old Man Brown out. But maybe Sergeant Shithead was right. Maybe there was something else involved.

three
    Gardner entered the lab at police headquarters without knocking at seven-fifteen that evening. Lieutenant Harvis had just
     phoned him to say that Brownie was on the premises, so Gardner rushed right over to pay his respects.
    Brownie stood up behind his desk when he heard the door open.
    “Brownie, I’m so sorry.” Gardner grabbed his friend’s arm.
    “Gard…” Brownie touched his hand.
    “Anything I can do?”
    “No. It’s under control.”
    “You’re sure?” Gardner remembered the chaos of