White Space Season 2

agency’s parking lot and put on his light bar with the siren silenced, when his phone rang.
    The screen said, “Private.”
    Brady, thinking it might be either the judge or the car agency’s owner, picked it up.
    It was a man, his voice disguised with a digital scrambler. “I found a dead girl.”
    “Where?” Brady asked, his heart racing.
    “Washed up on the shore just under the pier. Better hurry.”
    “Why?” Brady asked, but the man hung up before giving an answer.
    Brady flipped on his light bar and raced to the pier as fast as his cruiser would fly. In four minutes, he arrived to find a small crowd of people trying to peek down at the shore, held at bay by yellow police tape and a handful of Paladin officers.
    What the hell? How did they get here so quick? Did the guy call them first?
    Brady got out of his car, observing the scene — the pier had been completely cordoned off, and a group of fishermen and others were being questioned by another group of three Paladins. The crime scene had to be at least 15 minutes old, maybe older. Whoever called Brady with “the tip” had sure taken their sweet ass time.
    Why call Paladin first?
    Brady was annoyed as he pushed his way past a dozen or so gawkers, craning their necks for an awkward view of the rocky shore. Paladin Officer Petigrew stood just outside the police tape, nodding at Brady as he made his way down the wooden steps along the steep incline to the shore.
    Another trio of Paladin officers was on the sand, standing over the body.
    A chill whistled through the chief as he caught a glimpse of another naked girl, fished from the sea just like the last.
    As he moved to get a closer look, he somehow felt that it wasn’t his daughter. He prayed it also wasn’t Emma Hughes. The family had seen too much tragedy already with Sarah’s death. He couldn’t bear the thought of calling Jon or Cassidy with more horrible news.
    As Brady moved closer, his heart froze. He stopped dead in the sand, feeling kicked in the gut.
    “Oh, Jesus.”
    It was Emma — dead, eyes wide to the indifferent gray sky above.
    Brady’s cell rang. It was Jon.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Don Bellows

    Don woke to the sound of boots clicking on a hard floor. He opened his eyes, still in the same bright, white room he’d been in since one day before, his hands still tied behind his back, still naked, shoulders and back still aching.
    Once again, Paladin Chief Carl Kaiser stood before him, smiling like a power mad tormentor.
    “Are you ready to talk, yet, Mr. Bellows?” Kaiser asked, his voice oozing with artificial warmth. He hadn’t been quite so kind yesterday, as evidenced by the many bruises Don could feel running in ravines of dull pain along his ribs, chest, and back.
    Yesterday, Don refused to say anything. From the moment he woke in custody, he repeated the same thing, over and over. “I know my rights, and I want a lawyer.”
    A day later, Don was singing the same song to Kaiser.
    Don’s tormentor held his smile. “Oh come on, Don. You and I both know that’s not how things really work in America. I read your little conspiracy blog, and all your rants about police state this and new world order that. Or should I call you Cody Delfin, or Stan Trenton, or maybe Louisa Abernathy? So prolific, and so many names, and so many profiles and websites, Mr. Bellows.”
    Don wasn’t surprised that they’d now been able to link him to his work. Hell, maybe they had long ago and were merely waiting for the right time to nab him up. Perhaps his anonymity had been an illusion, after all.
    Kaiser continued, “Oh yeah, I’m a huge fan of your work, Mr. Bellows, even if you didn’t get all the facts quite right. For one, we don’t have the ability to read people’s minds … well, at least not yet. Oh, but don’t worry, we are working on it,” he chuckled. “And we don’t poison drinking water to make people complacent, Mr. Bellows. Such lengths would be entirely unnecessary. That’s what the media and religion are for, Mr. Bellows. Didn’t Paranoia 101 teach you anything?”
    “So, what did I get right, then?” Don said, unable to resist Kaiser’s conversational bait, and feeling as if he had nothing to lose.
    “Oh, you want to know, do you? Now you want to talk? Well, first, Mr. Bellows, I’d appreciate you telling me something useful, something I’d like to know.”
    “What?” Don asked.
    “Two things,” Kaiser smiled, “if I may be so greedy. First, what did