By the time I reached it, two uniformed cops had left the squad car and were standing in the driveway in front of the rear bumper, hands hovering over their holsters like this wasHigh Noon.
“Easy there, cowboys,” I said.
One of the cops was about Blake’s age, wide-eyed and scrawny. The other was older and meatier, with a deeply ruddy face that was either his natural complexion or the heat getting to him. I couldn’t tell.
“Hi, there, Officers!” I waved at them.
They didn’t wave back.
“This is a crime scene, ma’am,” said the ruddy-faced one. “I’m sorry your favorite author’s passed and all. But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I winced.So much for looking professional.I took a few steps closer and held up my PI’s license. “I’m actually working this case,” I said. “I’m a private investigator.”
Ruddy took it from me. He read it closely, his partner glancing over his shoulder. He handed it back. “State Police is working the case,” he said.
“I’m working it from a different angle,” I said.
“What angle?”
“I was hired by someone who is being questioned as a suspect.”
The two of them looked at each other. “Detective Gleason can talk to you, ma’am,” said the scrawny one.
“He already did.”
“Then there you go,” Ruddy said. “Have a pleasant evening.”
There was something different about the driveway. I tried to catch a glimpse around the squad car, but it was blocking my view, and I felt like if I tried to pass these two to get a closer look, one of them—probably Ruddy—might go Marshal Kane on me. So instead I slapped on my brightest smile. “Look, the murder happened inside the house, right?”
Scrawny glanced at his partner nervously, like he’d forgotten his most important line in the middle of a live performance.
“It did,” Ruddy said.
“So how about if I just look around the grounds.”
“I dunno…”
“I won’t cross the tape. I won’t attempt to go into the house. You can accompany me.”
“I need to guard the driveway.”
“Then how about your partner, Officer…”
“Clam,” said Ruddy.
“OfficerClam?”
Ruddy burst out laughing. “That’s his real name,” he said. “Weird, right?”
“It’s German,” the other cop said. “It starts with aKand has twom’s at the end.”
I looked at Klamm, whose face was now redder than that of his partner. You could tell he got teased about his name a lot. A kid trying to prove himself on a small local police force, with a name that sounds like one of SpongeBob’s friends. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Nice to meet you, Officer Klamm,” I said. I moved a little closer and stuck out my hand.
Klamm shook it tentatively.
“When he gets mad, we call him Steamed Klamm,” Ruddy said.
“No, you don’t,” said Klamm.