6
At Homicide the next morning, Rebecca picked up a folder on one of her cases, but all she could think about was Sandy Geller. Sure, he might be a crook, but he was also a fount of information. The subject, real or not, had her hooked, and she wasn’t too sure that was a good thing.
“Morning,” Lieutenant James Philip Eastwood, chief of the Homicide bureau, said as he passed her desk, jarring her out of her reverie. He was impeccable, as always, his shirt starched to a seemingly uncomfortable level, and his thick silver-colored hair formed into a small pomp above his forehead.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, then hunched low over the open folder.
Only seven hours to go before she left work to meet Sandy. She couldn’t deny excitement at seeing a haunted house with a psychic medium.
She h
