problems.
“This
…
is
…
the
…
Easternkentuckycombinedlawfrcmtiveplslve.
…
a
…
message
…
and
…
wewillgetrightbato
…
you.”
I sighed and hung up. McCoy had given me the numberfor his mobile phone so I tried that. He answered on third ring.
“Hey, Lee, I need to see Cherry. Where’s her office?”
“East side of Campton, just through the light on the highway. There’s an antiquey type of place, a Dairy Queen, a dollar store. The EKCLE office is just past. Look close or you’ll drive right by.”
“Where you at?”
“Out by Courthouse Rock, checking on nesting areas for hawks.”
“Wish I was there. No new stars on the GPS horizon, I take it?”
“You mean symbols and numbers? Nope. Just the good old normal kind.”
I drove past the EKCLE offices my first try, then came back around. The office was in what appeared to be a defunct used-car dealership: a gray single-wide trailer on a half-acre of faded asphalt. I saw a plain blue Crown Victoria Police Interceptor model parked outside, the unmarked cruiser Cherry had been using at Soldering-iron man’s murder scene.
I parked and walked the steps to the door, entered. The trailer’s living area had been converted to an office, probably back in the car-dealership days, with paneled walls, grubby blue carpet, a window-unit air conditioner with water stains beneath it. A map of Kentucky centered on one wall. There was a round table surrounded by five mismatched chairs at one end of the room, an old metaldesk at the other. Two battered filing cabinets flanked the desk. The air reeked of tobacco seeping into the woodwork over decades.
Cherry was at the desk pushing a pencil. She wore a white lacy top. Her earrings were turquoise bangles and complemented the red hair. She looked up, frowned, went back to her work.
“What can I do for you, Ryder?”
“I was gonna buy a used car, but it looks like your inventory’s low.”
She set the pencil down. Spiked me with the left eye, brushed me with the right one. “Something on your mind?”
I spun a chair to the front of her desk and sat. “Thank you for sending Lee McCoy to inspect me yesterday. We had a great hike and a fine supper, which you doubtless know.”
“I didn’t send him to—”
“Your spy confezzed,” I said in my Hollywood Nazi, which sounded closer to Scottish. “I br-r-r-roke him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lee’s so straight they use him to calibrate plumb-bobs. Given your appearance on the scene, I wanted him to sniff you over, Ryder. No apologies.”
“No apology requested. It’s what I would have done.”
“Really? I’m amazed I did something a big-city detective would do. My day is made. Thanks and bye.”
I kept my seat. “Any ID come through on the body?”
“There’s a problem. The fingers were burned. The prints were damaged.”
I saw the case materials arrayed on her desk. Felt a rush of adrenalin. I said, “McCoy told me about the murder of the snack-truck guy. How about I take copies of the cases back to my cabin and check for anything you might have missed.”
“Excuse me, did you say ‘missed’?”
I nodded toward the remnant-store surroundings. “I’m just trying to be helpful, Detective. This is hardly the forefront of law enforcement.”
Donna Cherry brushed back a bright lock of hair from her forehead and leaned forward with her elbows on her desk. “It’s true that I work in a thirty-year-old trailer that smells like cigars. I got a busted answering machine and a vehicle with a hundred forty thousand miles on it. I spend half my time trying to cement jurisdictional alliances with politicians who can’t spell either word. But guess what, Mister Big-city Hotshot? This program is eight months old and serious crime in my territory is down seventeen per cent. How y’all doing in Mobile?”
She snatched up the pencil. Looked down at her work.
“Have a nice vacation, Detective, but please have it somewhere besides my
“This
…
is
…
the
…
Easternkentuckycombinedlawfrcmtiveplslve.
…
a
…
message
…
and
…
wewillgetrightbato
…
you.”
I sighed and hung up. McCoy had given me the numberfor his mobile phone so I tried that. He answered on third ring.
“Hey, Lee, I need to see Cherry. Where’s her office?”
“East side of Campton, just through the light on the highway. There’s an antiquey type of place, a Dairy Queen, a dollar store. The EKCLE office is just past. Look close or you’ll drive right by.”
“Where you at?”
“Out by Courthouse Rock, checking on nesting areas for hawks.”
“Wish I was there. No new stars on the GPS horizon, I take it?”
“You mean symbols and numbers? Nope. Just the good old normal kind.”
I drove past the EKCLE offices my first try, then came back around. The office was in what appeared to be a defunct used-car dealership: a gray single-wide trailer on a half-acre of faded asphalt. I saw a plain blue Crown Victoria Police Interceptor model parked outside, the unmarked cruiser Cherry had been using at Soldering-iron man’s murder scene.
I parked and walked the steps to the door, entered. The trailer’s living area had been converted to an office, probably back in the car-dealership days, with paneled walls, grubby blue carpet, a window-unit air conditioner with water stains beneath it. A map of Kentucky centered on one wall. There was a round table surrounded by five mismatched chairs at one end of the room, an old metaldesk at the other. Two battered filing cabinets flanked the desk. The air reeked of tobacco seeping into the woodwork over decades.
Cherry was at the desk pushing a pencil. She wore a white lacy top. Her earrings were turquoise bangles and complemented the red hair. She looked up, frowned, went back to her work.
“What can I do for you, Ryder?”
“I was gonna buy a used car, but it looks like your inventory’s low.”
She set the pencil down. Spiked me with the left eye, brushed me with the right one. “Something on your mind?”
I spun a chair to the front of her desk and sat. “Thank you for sending Lee McCoy to inspect me yesterday. We had a great hike and a fine supper, which you doubtless know.”
“I didn’t send him to—”
“Your spy confezzed,” I said in my Hollywood Nazi, which sounded closer to Scottish. “I br-r-r-roke him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lee’s so straight they use him to calibrate plumb-bobs. Given your appearance on the scene, I wanted him to sniff you over, Ryder. No apologies.”
“No apology requested. It’s what I would have done.”
“Really? I’m amazed I did something a big-city detective would do. My day is made. Thanks and bye.”
I kept my seat. “Any ID come through on the body?”
“There’s a problem. The fingers were burned. The prints were damaged.”
I saw the case materials arrayed on her desk. Felt a rush of adrenalin. I said, “McCoy told me about the murder of the snack-truck guy. How about I take copies of the cases back to my cabin and check for anything you might have missed.”
“Excuse me, did you say ‘missed’?”
I nodded toward the remnant-store surroundings. “I’m just trying to be helpful, Detective. This is hardly the forefront of law enforcement.”
Donna Cherry brushed back a bright lock of hair from her forehead and leaned forward with her elbows on her desk. “It’s true that I work in a thirty-year-old trailer that smells like cigars. I got a busted answering machine and a vehicle with a hundred forty thousand miles on it. I spend half my time trying to cement jurisdictional alliances with politicians who can’t spell either word. But guess what, Mister Big-city Hotshot? This program is eight months old and serious crime in my territory is down seventeen per cent. How y’all doing in Mobile?”
She snatched up the pencil. Looked down at her work.
“Have a nice vacation, Detective, but please have it somewhere besides my
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