Detective Jackson's voice surprised me.
The police detective helped us by perjuring himself.
I considered calling Howie and learn what he'd told the detective before I blurted out something that totally contradicted what my former partner in crime had related.
Detective Jackson looked up at me.
The only item of information I'd withheld from Detective Jackson was that the assailant had asked me where everybody else was.
He used to be a police detective, back in Pennsylvania.
Good work, detective O'Connor!
I know they have a very good detective on the payroll.
"Here," I said, fumbling for my cell phone and keying the speed dial number for Detective Jackson back in Keene.
Detective Dick wasted no time with pleasantries.
I immediately telephoned Detective Dick and relayed the news that Howie was missing.
Instead, he asked Fred about his detective work.
I answered to detective Jackson.
I had related to the detective what I'd learned from Willard Humphries, Grasso's cell mate, that he had a hide out somewhere away from Santa Barbara.
"I'll take you to the mall," he said in his tight accent but as I started to move toward his old car, Detective Dick, my phone in his hand, yelled.
Detective Dick took my phone back and grabbed my arm, leading me to the waiting car.
When I arrived at Detective Dick's door, he was on his way out.
My, you're being a regular nosy little detective, aren't you?
Detective Dick surmised Grasso had telephoned Howie from the hideout and then driven to the rendezvous.
Though I was anxious to speak with Detective Jackson for an update, it was too early to call.
I blurted out my suspicions to Detective Jackson and said a prayer.
Finding another Dawkins in one of Ouray's dozen or two lodging places shouldn't be much trouble for an ace detective-almost sheriff.
"Maybe it's the old detective coming out," he answered.
Knowing the local police included Detective Jackson, I suggested he contact the Simi Valley attorney first to find out if the vehicle I saw was in fact his.
The detective gave me a look but said nothing as he led me down a long corridor to a darkened back room.
I asked about detective Dick and was told to wait outside.
Mr. Dean here, part time detective and sheriff candidate, tracked down a hot lead on some bones—maybe a long dead villain—up at The Lucky Pup mine.
This detective stuff comes roaring back after an absence—like bike riding and swimming.
Detective Dean might have been on a roll, but his wagon had suddenly come to a stop.
Are you going to continue to play detective and grill the poor woman, or is this a fun trip?
The two had shared Dean's bachelorhood for fifteen years until Dean, an ex-Pennsylvania police detective married Cynthia Byrne seven months earlier.
He added, I was a detective in Parkside, Pennsylvania.
I needed twenty minutes to bring the retired detective up to date.
Stick to your crystal ball and leave the detective work to me.
You didn't tell the detective what you suspected about the man who tried to kill you?
"Does the detective think you committed a crime or you're involved in some way?" she asked.
I needed time to formulate a response to Detective Jackson's questions but I wished I had some idea of the extent of what he knew or had deduced.
I didn't at first recognize the New Hampshire number but remembered I'd given mine to Detective Jackson.
"Here," I said, handing detective Dick my phone.
"Here's what we have; a dark blue or black van without side or back windows, with out of state license plates," Detective Dick said.
While she'd most likely be out on the job, he'd case the place, now that his detective hat was fitting so well.
The man was run down by a detective from After.
Am I not a detective with inordinate skills?
Do you think this detective suspects you folks are involved with the tipster or does he simply doesn't know why you're all lying?
If I hadn't been summoned to Detective Jackson's office, I would have gone there anyway.
I never did find out what Howie told Detective Jackson but whatever was said, it put Jackson in a tizzy.
The detective seemed unconvinced until I told him John Luke Grasso wanted something from my friend and he might have contacted him.
Detective Carl Dick remained on the line with Jackson for most of the three mile trip.
I couldn't think of a logical way to advise Detective Jackson.
Then I remember Detective Jackson.
Then I remembered Detective Jackson.
I've staffed it with an ex San Francisco detective and a few other retired experts.
Detective came up to us, his phone in hand.