Mind Scrambler by Chris Grabenstein Page A

Haven.”
    â€œBoyle.” Flynn shoots out a hand the size and texture of an antique catcher’s mitt. “How you doin’?”
    Parker continues with the introductions. “His partner, John Ceepak.”
    The mitt moves right. “How you doin’?”
    â€œPleased to make your acquaintance,” says Ceepak, who doesn’t realize “How you doin’?” is the official manly-man greeting of the Garden State and has been long before Joey showed up on
Friends.
    â€œExcusemeyouseguys.” Flynn mumbles worse than my dad, who always sounds like he’s talking to himself even when he’s talking to you. The detective turns around. Looks up the hall, toward Mr. and Mrs. Rock’s rooms and whatever else is up that way. Leans back. Examines the ceiling tiles.
    â€œWheresdacameras?”
    â€œExcuse me?” says Parker.
    Flynn points up. “How come there ain’t no cameras back this way?”
    I think that’s what he said.
    â€œNo need,” says Parker. “Security department always considered this hallway an area of minimal interest.”
    â€œYeah. Untiltonight.”
    â€œSay again?”
    â€œUntil tonight. Major interest tonight, am I right?”
    Flynn turns around to gaze in our general direction again. Scrunches up his nose. Doesn’t mumble anything so Ceepak jumps in: “I can vouch for Mr. Boyle from nineteen hundred hours through twenty-one twenty.”
    â€œUnh-hunh. And that’d be like from seven to like what?”
    â€œNine-twenty PM ,” I say since I do the time-clock conversions quicker than Ceepak. “I found the body around nine-thirty.”
    â€œHunh.”
    Oh-kay. If this guy helped Dr. McDaniels rewrite her book, why do I think the forthcoming fifth edition will be totally incomprehensible?
    â€œYou two busy?” Flynn suddenly asks, with another triple twitch of the neck.
    â€œSir?” says Ceepak.
    â€œBusy?”
    â€œWe are at your disposal.”
    â€œGood. Good.” He nods, tugs at his suit coat, sniffs. “Iheardaboutyousetwo.”
    Ceepak gives him a quizzical look. Me, too.
    â€œSandy. McDaniels? Says you’re sharp. You guys watch cowboy movies?”
    Ceepak looks totally confused. I’m right there with him.
    Flynn is unfazed. Guess he’s used to nobody understanding what the hell he’s talking about.
    â€œWesterns.
The Searchers
? John Wayne?”
    Ceepak nods slowly, the way you do when somebody tells you the CIA has implanted GPS transponders in your teeth.
    â€œToo many crimes in this town. Drunks. Disorderlies. Shooting-stabbings. Fugghetaboutit.” He shakes his head, twitches twice, tugs three times at his lapels. “As youse two undoubtedly know, all New Jersey officers have the authority and, I might add, the duty to enforce all state laws within the confines of New Jersey twenty-four-seven, regardless of your current geographical location. So, I’m hereby deputizin’ youse two until we figure out what the hell is goin’ on here. And don’t ask about the pay. There isn’t any. Cyrus?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI need to see that tape.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    He jabs his thick thumb in my general direction. “Boyle here. Walking down the hall.” He scissors two stiff fingers back and forth to, I guess, illustrate a person walking.
    â€œYou got it,” says Parker.
    â€œHave you established the time of death?” asks Ceepak.
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œThe time of death.” Ceepak is accenting every syllable, the way you might if you were talking to a deaf person in a noisy airplane hanger.
    â€œYeah. Sure. I got a good guesstimate.”
    â€œAnd?” Ceepak waits.
    â€œHmmm?”
    â€œIs Danny in the clear?”
    Flynn nods, which sets off another spasm of sideways head jerks and some more neck-cracking.
    â€œDetective Flynn?” Ceepak wants an answer. “What do