The Blood of Brothers: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 2) by Domino Finn
Authors: Domino Finn
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eventually broke up and discontinued. Maxim thought about trying to resurrect them sometimes, but he didn't have too many friends since his wife had died. There were the other officers, of course. And he'd started to get friendly with some of the Seventh Sons, but in light of recent events, maybe that wasn't such a good decision.
Maxim sighed. Maybe he could see if there was any action at the casino.
Almost immediately upon entering the Yavapai reservation, a police car pulled up behind him. Maxim hadn't been speeding and there was no checkpoint. Access to the land was free and open. For a minute he was hoping the officer was just doing a routine check, but as soon as he flipped on his reds-and-blues, Maxim knew he had been singled out.
The detective didn't drive a marked car. He should have blended in with the other luxury sports cars. There was no reason for him to be pulled over and the Yavapai-Prescott Tribal Police were likely not in the habit of hassling reservation visitors. It was clear the local PD already knew about him. Maxim wondered what they would do.
He pulled over to the dirt and waited as the patrolman recorded his plate. The detective rolled both windows down, turned on the overhead dome light, and readied his badge. It was departmental courtesy not to pull over other officers knowingly, but courtesy went both ways. If it happened, polite cooperation was expected. Maxim didn't have anything to hide, so he waited patiently.
A minute later, a man in a uniform approached his car on the right. He was about Maxim's age, but worse for wear. He looked like an overstuffed scarecrow, the seams of his pants and shirt pulled taut. At the same time, the man had a barrel chest and long legs, giving him an imposing height. While he wasn't exactly in shape, the man could serve as a good cop. Nobody would easily overpower him, anyway.
The officer leaned forward and stuck a sweaty face in the passenger window. His blond hair was slick and bristling in the wind. It was cooling down outside so Maxim guessed the officer's squad car needed AC work. From appearances, what he really needed was a new car. It made Maxim happy that he had finally splurged on the TT.
"You're the detective, right?" the man asked.
Maxim nodded and showed his badge. "Detective Dwyer. That's me."
The officer suddenly opened the door and fell onto the seat. "You don't need that," he said casually as he tried to squeeze his knees past the dashboard. The Audi was a small car that rode low. It wasn't built for large men with sasquatch legs. Maxim watched half-stunned, half-entertained as the man shifted his position several times. Finally, he just sat sideways with his legs outside the car and twisted around.
"I hear you're doing a death notification?"
Maxim contemplated him awkwardly. Entering the vehicle was presumptuous, but Maxim didn't feel threatened. Just uncomfortable. Maybe it was how they did things down here.
"Yeah," Maxim answered, "and maybe confirm something for myself."
The officer nodded. "I'm Officer Winston. But you can call me Chuck." He raised a fat hand in greeting.
The detective took it and suddenly felt bad about being so formal earlier. "Maxim," he said, trying to match the man's hospitality.
"Maxim," he repeated. "You're the one that was in the news some time back. The Paradise Killings, right?"
"In the flesh."
Chuck shook his head. "I don't really believe what the media reports."
Maxim didn't know how to respond. He wasn't even sure what the officer meant by that. Did he not believe that a bunch of bodies had been dumped in Paradise Tank? Did he not believe that Maxim had killed Deborah Holton, a woman instrumental in the killings? "Okay," was the best answer he could come up with.
"You're aware you need to give us a courtesy call before proceeding with any investigation on the reservation, right?"
"Did Marshal Boyd not do that?"
"He did," answered Chuck. "But we prefer more of an in-person visit."
"Ah," said the
Maxim sighed. Maybe he could see if there was any action at the casino.
Almost immediately upon entering the Yavapai reservation, a police car pulled up behind him. Maxim hadn't been speeding and there was no checkpoint. Access to the land was free and open. For a minute he was hoping the officer was just doing a routine check, but as soon as he flipped on his reds-and-blues, Maxim knew he had been singled out.
The detective didn't drive a marked car. He should have blended in with the other luxury sports cars. There was no reason for him to be pulled over and the Yavapai-Prescott Tribal Police were likely not in the habit of hassling reservation visitors. It was clear the local PD already knew about him. Maxim wondered what they would do.
He pulled over to the dirt and waited as the patrolman recorded his plate. The detective rolled both windows down, turned on the overhead dome light, and readied his badge. It was departmental courtesy not to pull over other officers knowingly, but courtesy went both ways. If it happened, polite cooperation was expected. Maxim didn't have anything to hide, so he waited patiently.
A minute later, a man in a uniform approached his car on the right. He was about Maxim's age, but worse for wear. He looked like an overstuffed scarecrow, the seams of his pants and shirt pulled taut. At the same time, the man had a barrel chest and long legs, giving him an imposing height. While he wasn't exactly in shape, the man could serve as a good cop. Nobody would easily overpower him, anyway.
The officer leaned forward and stuck a sweaty face in the passenger window. His blond hair was slick and bristling in the wind. It was cooling down outside so Maxim guessed the officer's squad car needed AC work. From appearances, what he really needed was a new car. It made Maxim happy that he had finally splurged on the TT.
"You're the detective, right?" the man asked.
Maxim nodded and showed his badge. "Detective Dwyer. That's me."
The officer suddenly opened the door and fell onto the seat. "You don't need that," he said casually as he tried to squeeze his knees past the dashboard. The Audi was a small car that rode low. It wasn't built for large men with sasquatch legs. Maxim watched half-stunned, half-entertained as the man shifted his position several times. Finally, he just sat sideways with his legs outside the car and twisted around.
"I hear you're doing a death notification?"
Maxim contemplated him awkwardly. Entering the vehicle was presumptuous, but Maxim didn't feel threatened. Just uncomfortable. Maybe it was how they did things down here.
"Yeah," Maxim answered, "and maybe confirm something for myself."
The officer nodded. "I'm Officer Winston. But you can call me Chuck." He raised a fat hand in greeting.
The detective took it and suddenly felt bad about being so formal earlier. "Maxim," he said, trying to match the man's hospitality.
"Maxim," he repeated. "You're the one that was in the news some time back. The Paradise Killings, right?"
"In the flesh."
Chuck shook his head. "I don't really believe what the media reports."
Maxim didn't know how to respond. He wasn't even sure what the officer meant by that. Did he not believe that a bunch of bodies had been dumped in Paradise Tank? Did he not believe that Maxim had killed Deborah Holton, a woman instrumental in the killings? "Okay," was the best answer he could come up with.
"You're aware you need to give us a courtesy call before proceeding with any investigation on the reservation, right?"
"Did Marshal Boyd not do that?"
"He did," answered Chuck. "But we prefer more of an in-person visit."
"Ah," said the
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