The Silent Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #1) (24 page)

He threw them at Grant.

Grant swatted them away with the back of his hand, turning for a brief second as he did. 

Hyder rushed Grant, rammed his shoulder into the man’s chest.

Grant stumbled and the gun flew out of his hands.  It rested by the door.

Grant recovered and elbowed Hyder in the back.  Searing pain shot through him.

Grant kneed Hyder in the abdomen. Hyder fell to the floor, clutching his stomach.  His face was red.  He coughed, trying to regain his breath.

Grant came up to Hyder and punched him across the face.

Hyder’s cheek ached and burned.  He felt disoriented.

Grant pulled out a knife and held it at Hyder’s throat.

“You’ve made my life difficult,” Grant said.  “I don’t enjoy killing, but I will enjoy killing you.”

Hyder braced himself for what was to come next, began to pray silently.

A shot rang out.

For a second, nothing happened. Grant just stood there, motionless.

Then his eyes bulged out.  He dropped the knife and fell to the floor.

Standing by the door was Jessica.  She was holding Grant’s gun, and she had a look of grim determination on her face. 

Hyder looked over. The man was dead.  Blood flowed out of his chest.

Jessica came over and helped Hyder to his feet.

She handed him his glasses. “How did you find me?” he asked.

Lester appeared by the door.  He looked at the scene and his eyes went wide. “Whoa, this is some dangerous business.”

“Lester saw you enter the building earlier, so he called me to find out why,” Jessica explained. “We weren’t sure what was up, so we decided to investigate.”

“I’m glad you did,” Hyder said.  He looked at Grant’s body.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, now I am,” she said, looking at her father’s murderer with grim satisfaction.

SEVENTY-SIX

Nolan soon arrived at the
Daily Times
.

“You guys okay?” he asked as he got out of his car.

Hyder and Jessica nodded.

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” Lester said dryly. 

“Is it over?” Hyder asked Nolan.

“At this moment, a patrol car is taking the felons of TriGate Management Group down to the station to be booked.  Soon they will be charged with everything that is in this file.”

Nolan held the file out to Hyder.

Hyder took it and moved his hand over it.

“You know what I’ll do with it,” Nolan said. “What will you do with it?”

Hyder smiled. “I think I’ve got one helluva story to write now.”

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Nolan sat in his car, staring at the house across from him.  The lights were on and he was certain the family was home.

The Hansboroughs were probably in the process of getting dinner ready.  It would be like any other night.  The dinner would be followed by some time in front of the television and then the children would move to their rooms, while their father would prepare the house for the night.

The Hanboroughs deserved to know the truth.  It was the same truth that had finally provided him some inner peace.  It would not be easy, he knew, but he felt it was now time to move on. The Hansboroughs needed to move on too.

Nolan got out of his car and walked up to the front door.

He hoped they would not mind the intrusion. 

Peter Hansborough answered.  “Hi,” he said with a polite smile.  “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Detective Tom Nolan of the Franklin Police Department,” Nolan replied, holding up his badge.  “I have some information regarding the death of your wife.”

Peter’s eyes widened.  “Um, come in, detective,” he said.

Nolan began to feel the weight being lifted off his soul.

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THE ROGUE REPORTER (
excerpt
)

ONE

He sat in his cubicle, typing away on his laptop.  He had gone over the document a dozen times now, but it was still not what his superiors had wanted.  There were still additions, deletions, alterations, and even complete omissions that needed to be made before the document was ready for the general public.

The sun had gone down several hours ago.  He stared out the window into total darkness.  The only thing he saw was his own reflection.

Vikram Patel was in his mid-thirties.  He had dark skin, curly black hair, and a thick mustache.  He was skinny to the bones. 

He knew why that was.  It was his vegetarian diet that kept his weight below what it should be.  He had once tried to get heavier by eating a lot of potatoes but he found only his stomach got bigger and nothing else.

Like many young people from India, he had once dreamed of becoming a Bollywood actor.  He would build his body up and become an action movie star.  But he never did gain much muscle mass, and with his dark complexion, the only role he would ever get was as a villain’s henchman or as a poor laborer and a beggar.  India was still heavily influenced by the British rule, even though the English left India more than half a century ago.  Those with lighter complexions were given better acting parts, while those with darker complexions were relegated to minor, or in some instances, negative acting parts.

Vikram had quickly given up on his dream and studied environmental science at Goa University in India.  This now led him all the way to the United States of America and to the
Centre for Inland Waters
or CIW.

Vikram had come to America on a six-month work visa, which was set to expire in another three months. 

Those three months now felt like an entirety.

He glanced at the photo tacked on the cubicle wall.  It was of his wife, Reema, and son, Sachin.  He missed them every minute of every day.  He would normally call them around this time, but today he was at work.

He decided to send his wife a text, or else she would be worried if she didn’t hear from him.

It was short and brief.  It only stated that he would call her as soon as he was able to.

Vikram went back to the document he was working on.  It was done, but he wanted to go over it once more.  He then pushed the laptop back and leaned back on his chair.  Suddenly, his heart and his mind was not into it.  He had to submit the report before he left for the day, but it was the last thing he wanted to do right now. 

He wished he was back in Goa. He wished he was at home with his wife and son.  He missed his wife’s cooking.  
Aloo gobi paratha
(potato and cauliflower wrap).
Daal chawal
(lentils and rice). And his favorite,
mirch saag
(spicy spinach).  His mouth watered at the thought of all the dishes.  He closed his eyes and he could almost taste and smell them.

He had, however, found an Indian restaurant near his work, but it just wasn’t the same as back in India.  The food didn't have the right flavor or texture.

He knew he was being picky, but food was one of the things that reminded him of home.  So when he didn’t have it just right, he didn’t feel like he belonged here.

Prior to taking the position, he had hoped to perform his duties at the CIW, return to India and then apply for permanent status for the United States.  This would then allow him to provide his son with a Western education. 

Now, he wasn’t sure if that was a good idea.  His experience at the CIW wasn’t what he had expected.  He felt like an outsider, like he never fully belonged here.

There were too many restrictions, similar to the ones he found in India.  He was not allowed to freely state his opinions and conclusions.  At first, he thought it was because he was a foreigner, but he soon realized that was not the case.

He heard a noise.  It echoed down the hall. 

He waited and listened.

The noise came again.  It sounded like someone was banging something on the walls.

He stood up and looked around.  The floor was deserted.  Everyone had gone home hours ago.

It could be the cleaning people, he thought.

He had seen them dusting, mopping, and vacuuming the building during after hours.

He went back to his laptop.

The noise became louder and distinct.

He got up and went to where he had heard the noise come from.

He had barely walked fifteen steps when he froze in horror. 

Standing by the door was a figure of a man.  He was tall and looked well built. The man was wearing a leather jacket and a hoodie. 

What terrified Vikram was not how the man stood—with his head bent low and shoulders held high, as if he were some monster—it was what he had over his face.

It was a mask and it shook Vikram to the core.

Vikram tried to run and get away from him, but he found his legs wouldn’t move as fast as he had wanted them to.

He felt something sharp pierce the back of his leg.  He fell forward onto his stomach.  He looked down and found a piece of metal was protruding from his calf.

He screamed in agony.

He felt a shadow over him.

The man was looking down at him.  Behind the animal mask he could see human eyes.  But they were filled with anger and hate.

“Where is the original report?” the man growled.

Vikram didn’t know how to respond.  The pain throbbed in his leg, making him disoriented.  He saw blood spurt out from the entry wound.  It stained the carpet underneath him.  He thought of his wife and his son.  He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.  He wanted to go back home…

“I’m asking you a question,” the man yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts.  “Where is the original report?”

“I… I don’t know…” he quivered.

The man aimed what looked like a gun, and pulled the trigger.  A piece of metal tore into his shoulder.

Vikram howled in pain as his entire body shook from the impact.  When he touched the metal object, he realized it was a piece of
nail
.  It was long and thick and it was now wedged inside his muscles.

Blood covered his hand and fingertips.

“Please… I… didn’t do anything,” he pleaded.

“Tell me where it is and it will be over quick,” the man said.  “If you don’t, then it’ll be slow and very painful.”

Suddenly, there was a noise.  It was coming from down the hall.  The man turned and then walked away.  He disappeared around the corner.

Vikram tried to get up, but he couldn’t.

He tried to crawl, but even that was not possible. His shoulder and leg wouldn’t allow it.  They were covered in blood.

He wanted to close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare, but he knew it was more real than ever.

He hoped the man would not return, but that thought quickly disappeared when he heard footsteps coming his way.

He dabbed his fingers in the blood and then proceeded to write something on the carpet. 

It took several attempts when he felt a shadow over him again.

When he turned he found himself staring at a gun, the barrel holding a nail.

Vikram Patel shut his eyes tight.

He then heard a click, followed by something cold and hard penetrating his skull and then the brain.

TWO

The woman wiped her eyes with a clean tissue.  She was in her early to mid-fifties, with graying hair and a slight paunch.

She sat on the sofa with her son and daughter on either side of her.  The son was fifteen and the daughter eighteen.  They had their arms around their mother.