Read Online Black Water by T. Jefferson Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: T. Jefferson Parker
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automatic of some kind, his ejected shell wouldn't have landed where Zamorra found it.
No. It would have landed where all the overlapped, partial footprints were.
And the bullet that was still inside Archie Wildcraft's head—was it from his nine or something else? That was the key. Still no word from Sheriff Abelera. Still no word from the hospital.
She heard a car pull up and park on the street. Zamorra, she thought. She walked toward the driveway and saw Ryan Dawes slamming the door of his convertible.
Merci watched him come down the sidewalk toward the drive: gray suit, black shirt open at the collar, sunglasses and a black briefcase. Tall, lean, strong in the leg and butt. He ran a hand back through his honey-colored hair.
She backed into the foliage again. Found the size-sixteen prints, placed one duty boot in each and stood still as Dawes walked past her. On his return trip, Merci stepped out and aimed her finger at his head.
"Gotcha, Jaws!"
Dawes jumped backward and dropped his briefcase to the walk.
"Shit! You scared me, Ray . . . scared the shit out of me. "
"What are you doing here?"
"My job."
"You're just a lawyer."
He said nothing but he was breathing quickly and there was sweat on his forehead.
"You'll be fine, Mr. Dawes. Look—when you get the pee scared out of you, breathe deep. Deep."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Got it?"
"I get it."
"What are you looking for?"
He said nothing while she tried to look past his glasses and take a read on him. But the silver-blue lenses threw her own face back at her
"This is a crime scene and we're still processing it. So stay on the beaten path and don't touch anything. Not one thing."
He smiled and let out a quick little snort. "Cut the crap, Rayborn I know what to do with a crime scene. We don't like each other. Fine I can play this your way if I have to."
"My way is not to whine to the papers."
"I should have kept my mouth shut."
It didn't sound like an apology, or even the preamble to one.
"You kicked my ass when it was down, Jaws."
"I should have stayed quiet."
"Don't mess up my crime scene."
"I won't. I need to get the evidence right this time."
She could have killed him. Thought she might. But she held her tongue and imagined Jaws slipping from a toe-hold and pinwheeling down the face of Half Dome toward his death.
Then she heard footsteps on the walk. It took her a moment to recognize Al with no sport coat on, and a pair of aviator shades hiding his eyes.
Al Madden was former head of the Sheriff's Department Homicide Detail, and now the district attorney's top investigator. He was big, smart and tireless. Hess had spoken highly of him.
The DA prosecutors used Al when they needed more than what the case detectives got. Or to tie things up, nail things down. Clear up the details, connect the last few dots.
Or when the DA thought the detectives just might have gotten something wrong. Al was there to help them win cases. And to keep the People from getting humiliated in court because of bad police work. Or sued into oblivion by the ACLU.
She nodded and shook Al's hand but said nothing. Like greeting your executioner, she thought. She wasn't going to make polite chatter In the uncomfortable silence Al pulled off the sunglasses to reveal gray eyes rimmed in red.
"Look, Merci, everything looks tight on the reports. I'm just here to take some measurements, confirm a couple of small things. Clay knows this is a delicate one, with Wildcraft being one of ours."
"I understand. Small things like what? Measure what?"
"Nothing in particular."
Then everything in general, she thought: a wholesale dismissal of my casework.
"Let's do it, Al," said Dawes.
"Do you mind, Sergeant?" Madden asked, a hint of apology in his voice.
She shook her head and walked past them toward the driveway.
She walked through it again with Zamorra, once with Archie as the shooter and once with him not. Then again as burglars, noting all the things they could have taken but didn't. When they were finished they stood
No. It would have landed where all the overlapped, partial footprints were.
And the bullet that was still inside Archie Wildcraft's head—was it from his nine or something else? That was the key. Still no word from Sheriff Abelera. Still no word from the hospital.
She heard a car pull up and park on the street. Zamorra, she thought. She walked toward the driveway and saw Ryan Dawes slamming the door of his convertible.
Merci watched him come down the sidewalk toward the drive: gray suit, black shirt open at the collar, sunglasses and a black briefcase. Tall, lean, strong in the leg and butt. He ran a hand back through his honey-colored hair.
She backed into the foliage again. Found the size-sixteen prints, placed one duty boot in each and stood still as Dawes walked past her. On his return trip, Merci stepped out and aimed her finger at his head.
"Gotcha, Jaws!"
Dawes jumped backward and dropped his briefcase to the walk.
"Shit! You scared me, Ray . . . scared the shit out of me. "
"What are you doing here?"
"My job."
"You're just a lawyer."
He said nothing but he was breathing quickly and there was sweat on his forehead.
"You'll be fine, Mr. Dawes. Look—when you get the pee scared out of you, breathe deep. Deep."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Got it?"
"I get it."
"What are you looking for?"
He said nothing while she tried to look past his glasses and take a read on him. But the silver-blue lenses threw her own face back at her
"This is a crime scene and we're still processing it. So stay on the beaten path and don't touch anything. Not one thing."
He smiled and let out a quick little snort. "Cut the crap, Rayborn I know what to do with a crime scene. We don't like each other. Fine I can play this your way if I have to."
"My way is not to whine to the papers."
"I should have kept my mouth shut."
It didn't sound like an apology, or even the preamble to one.
"You kicked my ass when it was down, Jaws."
"I should have stayed quiet."
"Don't mess up my crime scene."
"I won't. I need to get the evidence right this time."
She could have killed him. Thought she might. But she held her tongue and imagined Jaws slipping from a toe-hold and pinwheeling down the face of Half Dome toward his death.
Then she heard footsteps on the walk. It took her a moment to recognize Al with no sport coat on, and a pair of aviator shades hiding his eyes.
Al Madden was former head of the Sheriff's Department Homicide Detail, and now the district attorney's top investigator. He was big, smart and tireless. Hess had spoken highly of him.
The DA prosecutors used Al when they needed more than what the case detectives got. Or to tie things up, nail things down. Clear up the details, connect the last few dots.
Or when the DA thought the detectives just might have gotten something wrong. Al was there to help them win cases. And to keep the People from getting humiliated in court because of bad police work. Or sued into oblivion by the ACLU.
She nodded and shook Al's hand but said nothing. Like greeting your executioner, she thought. She wasn't going to make polite chatter In the uncomfortable silence Al pulled off the sunglasses to reveal gray eyes rimmed in red.
"Look, Merci, everything looks tight on the reports. I'm just here to take some measurements, confirm a couple of small things. Clay knows this is a delicate one, with Wildcraft being one of ours."
"I understand. Small things like what? Measure what?"
"Nothing in particular."
Then everything in general, she thought: a wholesale dismissal of my casework.
"Let's do it, Al," said Dawes.
"Do you mind, Sergeant?" Madden asked, a hint of apology in his voice.
She shook her head and walked past them toward the driveway.
She walked through it again with Zamorra, once with Archie as the shooter and once with him not. Then again as burglars, noting all the things they could have taken but didn't. When they were finished they stood
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