The Coldest Fear by Rick Reed

said, and spit into a Styrofoam cup that was stained brown inside. “What he didn’t say was why you was coming.”
    Jack noticed that JJ’s uniform shirt was half buttoned up and he was not wearing a belt. He guessed that the young cop must have been off duty, but being the junior officer in this two-man department, was stuck with doing the grunt work.
    On the wall behind the other desk was a photo of the chief of police that bore a strong resemblance to JJ. Jack guessed there might be some nepotism at work in the hiring practice of the Shawneetown Police Department.
    â€œI hope we didn’t interrupt any important plans, Lieutenant,” Jack said, and noticed the young man straighten up slightly with pride at being addressed by his rank.
    â€œNaw, sir,” JJ said, and spit into the cup again.
    He reminded Jack of most of the young policemen he’d met over the years who were trying desperately to present a tough side. Most of them bought pickup trucks, or muscle cars, and tried very hard to grow mustaches. And then there were the ones who had taken up chewing tobacco, or smoking cigars. And of course the ones that added to the above by hanging out at the Fraternal Order of Police Club and drinking heavily to prove just how “bad” they were.
    JJ fit the profile. He was trying to grow a mustache, was chewing and spitting, and even though he didn’t have the physique for it, he had his button-up shirt pegged at the sides and arms. Jack knew JJ would have a pair of wraparound shades in his police car somewhere.
    â€œWe’re investigating a suspicious death,” Jack said, and saw a gleam come into JJ’s eyes. “The victim used this address as a next of kin,” Jack said, and showed JJ the Illinois Bureau of Motor Vehicle printout on Cordelia.
    JJ’s face turned ashen and the hand that held the paper shook, but only slightly. “Oh my God, it’s Cordelia,” he said.
    â€œI’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Jack said. “I hope she wasn’t a relative.” He was kicking himself for forgetting that in these small towns everyone knows, or is related to, everyone else. He should have smoothed the way over the telephone, but there was no putting the cat back in the bag now.
    JJ went behind a desk and sat down. “She’s not a real relative, but we grew up together. Lived in the same house. She lives in an apartment on the other side of town. You guys passed the turnoff for her place on the way in here, I bet.”
    Liddell took out his notebook. “Address?”
    â€œI know right where it’s at,” JJ said. “You said a suspicious death? Can you tell me what happened to her?”
    Jack pulled up a chair and began. When he was finished, Lieutenant JJ Johnson stood, buttoned his shirt, and said, “I’ll take you.”

C HAPTER T WENTY-ONE
    It was late afternoon when Arnold finally made it through the garage door into his kitchen.
    â€œArnold, is that you?” came his mother’s voice from up the stairs. “Arnold, where have you been?”
    â€œYes, it’s me, Mother,” he said with a sigh. He took his jacket off and laid it across the kitchen chair, then slipped out of his shoes. His feet were killing him. They had always been uncomfortable, but his mother had bought them for him many years ago, just before she became ill. He couldn’t bring himself to part with them.
    He put the kettle on to boil, hoping some chamomile tea would relax him a bit, and opened the door to the fridge to see if there was something to eat when his mother’s voice startled him.
    â€œArnold, you’d better get up here.”
    She sounded panicked. Arnold ran to the stairs. “Mother? What is it?” She didn’t answer, and he ran up the stairs and down the hall to her room. When he opened the door the overpowering odor of urine hit him.
    His mother lay on the bed, propped up against the headboard by