Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,39

was odd." Galloway said.

I sagged with relief. "Oh good, you think so too? Because sometimes with her I think it's just me."

"Ugh, yeah." He nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he looked toward the gate in the fence separating the properties, the one Mrs. Hill had just disappeared through. I could faintly hear Percy barking in the distance.

"I'm predicting she'll make herself a nice cup of tea, calm down, and then be back with a million questions laced with disdain about how Ben could be friends with someone like me, let alone leave me all his possessions."

"She seemed really shocked about that." Galloway was still looking at the gate.

"I'm going to check on her," Ben said. He'd been quiet for so long that I'd actually forgotten he was with us.

"Sure." I shrugged, then caught the sharp look Galloway darted my way. Damn it. Busted talking to a ghost. Again. I scrambled to cover my ass. "I mean, she sure did. Anyway…" I clapped my hands together. "Back to business. Follow me."

He did. I sat at Ben's desk, jiggled the mouse to wake up the computer and typed in the password.

"You know his passwords?" Galloway asked, dragging up the old wooden chair from the corner and making himself comfortable by my side.

"Uh-huh." I nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I set up most of his systems."

"Did you help him with recording his case?"

I ground my teeth, remembering it oh so well. Ben had been preparing to go to internal affairs, blow the whistle on Mills, when an assault charge had been laid on him. He'd arrested a guy, one of the street thugs for vehicular theft, only that thug had claimed excessive force and was suddenly sporting a black eye. A black eye he hadn't had when Ben brought him in.

"I set up a spreadsheet for him to track things, yes." I pulled up the spreadsheet in question, leaning back in my chair while Galloway leaned forward to read the screen.

"This is very detailed. Very thorough." I wasn't sure if Galloway was talking to himself or me. I may have set up the spreadsheet, but Ben had entered the information. Every precise detail. Dates, times, every exchange, he recorded it. He had photos too. He'd had the sense to snap a photo with his mobile of anything and everything that tied the corruption back to Mills. What I hadn't known, and I assume Ben hadn't known either, was how high up in the department it went—he had no evidence to support Galloway’s theory on Deputy Police Chief Clarke being dirty.

Opening a drawer, I pulled out a blank USB. Ben kept a stash to give copies of surveillance footage to his clients. Inserting the USB I copied the spreadsheet over, and the dozens of photos. Each photo's file path was recorded in the spreadsheet.

"This is helpful. Very helpful." Galloway nodded, clearly pleased. I ejected the USB and handed it to him. He took it, looked me dead in the eye and said, "Thank you. I know it doesn't mean much to you now, but this will help clear Ben's name." He stood and returned the chair to its spot in the corner. I followed him back into the living room.

"That's where you're wrong. It means a hell of a lot to me. That's why I'm taking a chance that I can trust you," I shot back. "Am I in danger? If Mills, Clements and Clarke catch wind of what you're up to, will it lead back to me? Do I have a target on my back?" Then another, more chilling thought occurred to me. "Did one of them kill Ben? Did they already know? Is this why he died?"

Galloway shrugged. "Until we find who killed Ben and why, I can't say. We're assuming it's related to one of his cases, but one thing about police work is you never make assumptions. You need evidence to back it up."

"That's not comforting," I said.

"Wasn't meant to be," he shot back. "Ben and I were discreet. We met walking along the street. To anyone else it would have looked like a casual conversation as we walked from one end of the block to the other. It had to be that way to avoid any suspicion. So no, I'm highly doubtful it was Mills or Clements. And Clarke wouldn't get his fingers dirty. He's pulling the strings from higher up."

"Right." My initial enthusiasm for the PI field dimmed just a little. I'd been excited about taking over