Sins of the Fathers by J. A. Jance Read Online (FREE)
Sins of the Fathers by J. A. Jance
Originally published: September 24, 2019
Author: J. A. Jance
Preceded by: Proof of Life: A J. P. Beaumont Novel
MY NAME IS BEAUMONT, J. P. BEAUMONT. J. P. IS SHORT for Jonas Piedmont, but that’s a long story. Recently I’ve learned that sometimes when life hands you the unexpected, you just have to run with it. For instance, I never expected to retire from police work. Far too many of my fellow cops tend to die while still in harness but not necessarily in the line of duty, unless stress-related illnesses—like too much booze, high blood pressure, early-onset heart ailments, and suicides—fall into that category.
I spent most of my career working in the Homicide Unit at Seattle PD and was happy to do so until all of a sudden I wasn’t. Why? Because the brass upstairs decided to promote a brown-nosing pile of crap and my least favorite partner ever, a fellow by the name of Paul Kramer, to be my boss. That was it. I was done. I pulled the plug and walked.
But what is it they say about one door closing and another opening? About the time I quit Seattle PD, Ross Alan Connors, who was the Washington State attorney general at the time, came calling and asked me to go to work for him on his Special Homicide Investigation Team, fondly referred to by those of us fortunate enough to work there as “the SHIT squad.” There was something wonderfully ironic about being able to tell people with a perfectly straight face that “I work for SHIT.” What made it even better was that my direct supervisor on that job was a cantankerous SOB named Harry Ignatius Ball, who to this day prefers to be addressed by his full name, as in Harry I. Ball. Try telling someone that you work for SHIT and your boss’s name is Harry I. Ball. See how far that gets you!
But the thing is, working for Special Homicide was a good deal for me. I got to keep working. I met and married a wonderful gal named Melissa Soames (Mel for short), and I gave my pension a healthy boost in the right direction. Then one winter’s day, it all came to a crashing halt—literally. Ross Connors died and Harry was gravely injured in a car wreck at the base of Seattle’s iconic Space Needle while they were on their way to a Christmas party. (Ross, as politically incorrect and cantankerous as Harry, refused to call it a holiday party. As far as he was concerned, it was a Christmas party, like it or lump it!)
As soon as Ross’s successor came on board, SHIT was shuttered and we were all given our walking papers. Mel landed on her feet with a gig as the new police chief in Bellingham, Washington, ninety miles north of Seattle. As for me? Suddenly I found myself in the odd position of being an unwillingly unemployed househusband, a position for which I am not exactly well suited.