Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold Read Online Free Page A

tank of a ‘honey wagon.’”
    Members of the office staff stood with coffee mugs paused at their lips. Leo, known for his punch lines said, “The cashier on duty at a 7-Eleven had a hissy. The poor gal called up Soledad PD. In a shaky voice—you know, like a perp had a gun to her head—she cried out to the duty officer, ‘He stunk up this place so fucking bad that I had to close the store during morning rush hour.’”
    Leo took a long sip of coffee and blurted, “Soledad PD arrived to find the inmate in a dumpster behind the 7-Eleven, holding his nose.”
    Halliday headed to his desk during Leo’s patented airy guffaw. The detectives had small offices along the east side of the building that reminded him of the embassy’s offices—ECON, POL, ADMIN, and GSO—inside those third world missions.
    His office, the size of a large closet, held a small desk, a short bookcase, and a table piled with documents that needed to be filed. He slid between the bookcase and desk to collapse into the roll around chair. If he leaned over, he had a limited view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains through the narrow window, despite the county courthouse spire.
    Leo Bergman poked his head in the door and said, “The chief wants to talk to you.”
    The thin, white-haired, senior detective responded to Halliday’s questioning look. “He didn’t say why.”
    “Leo, have you seen Gladstone?”
    The veteran raised his eyebrows. “Last I heard he was across the street at Cindy’s.”
    Gladstone spent more time at the diner, a longtime PD hangout, than in his office.
    Before leaving Leo said, “John, don’t come down too hard on Gladstone. He’s an honest kid. You know, raw behind the ears.”
    Halliday grunted as once again his call to Gladstone went to voicemail. He hung up. The lad should have advised him what he had learned from the Redwood Bluffs sheriff regarding Lamar Festus.
    Five minutes later Halliday approached the desk outside the chief’s office. He absorbed Betsy Martin’s inquisitive stare.
    “What did you do?” she said.
    “Nothing that I know of. Is Sheriff Andy in a bad mood?”
    She giggled. “I don’t know, Opie. You’d better get in there and find out.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Guess who I ran into at the grocery store?”
    He played along. “Arnold Schwarzenegger ?”
    “Come on, John,” she said, her voice rising. “Vicky told me how much she enjoyed the movies with you the other night.”
    Vicky, who lived across the hall, managed a car rental agency at Santa Reina Airport. She was always forcing her availability on him. “That was three months ago, Betsy.”
    She heaved a sigh. “I think she has a crush on you.”
    Halliday responded to her crooked smile with a grunt.
    “The chief said to go right in.”
    Fifty-eight year old Chief Matthew Brayden would merit a statue at the new PD if Santa Reina citizens got their way. However, many of the personnel under his leadership referred to him as a slave driver, often modified with a profane adjective.
    Brayden rarely called his detectives into his office to praise them or for social pleasantries. Keeping the meeting to business worked for Halliday. The chief’s heavy-handed methods did not bother him. He grabbed a roll-around chair, but stayed far enough away to avoid the chief’s bad breath. He sat, back straight, with elbows supported by the chair’s arms. He noted the boss was getting grayer and heavier.
    The chief cleared his throat and ejected a wad of phlegm into a spittoon beside his desk.
    “Sorry, it’s too goddamned much trouble to head to the toilet down the hall every time I have to spit. The doctor gave me the ultimatum, quit smoking or live with congestive heart failure or CHF. I call it CFN—Continual Fucking Nuisance.”
    Halliday held in a whimsical response.
    A wheezy grunt ended the chief’s short coughing spell. “The wizards at Genevive will come up with a miracle drug before you know it.”
    “For CFN, Chief?”
    Brayden