Read Online Cold Case Squad by Edna Buchanan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Edna Buchanan
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years. What does everybody want to drink?"
* * *
They gathered around the blond wood entertainment center. Bowls of
popcorn and half a dozen soft drinks on the coffee table. Nazario and
Burch on the couch, Stone slouched in a leather chair. Stan, Joan, and
Nipsy, the Jack Russell, shared the love seat. Ryan inserted the tape
into the VCR and sprawled on the floor.
The detectives watched silently.
"Ohhhhh," Joan crooned, as a golden retriever loped through a gaggle
of children. "There's Sookie. How I loved that dog. And look, look at
Vanessa, she was only five then."
"Consuela looks so young," Ryan said.
"We all do," Stan said. "I had more hair and less stomach."
"We have to show this to Consuela on Tuesday," Joan said. "Look at
you, honey!" She patted Stan's knee. "Whatever happened to your chef's
hat?"
"There's HoHo!" Ryan said.
"And the cake!" Joan laughed aloud. "The racquet, not the rocket! I
forgot about that!"
Stone leaned forward in his chair, wondering on some vague level why
people were laughing. He slid onto the thick carpet next to Ryan. "Can
you stop it? Back it up. There. More, more."
Ryan handed the remote to the detective.
"Okay, what is that?" Stone asked.
"What?" the Walkers chorused.
"Passing on the street, in the background."
"That reddish blur?" Stan asked.
"Right."
"Traffic of some sort. A car, I guess." Stan chewed his popcorn
thoughtfully. "We didn't have much traffic on our street back then.
What do you think, Joanie?"
"Remember the Camachos? You know. Four doors down, in the old Tate
house? Sissy, their teenager, had a red Mustang back then. That might
have been her coming home." She shrugged. "It could be anybody."
Stone flicked the remote and the tape resumed.
"Look, look," she cried. "There's Lionel!"
"Where?" Burch squinted at the tape. "Who's Lionel?"
"Right there. That's him." Joan gasped. "What's he doing to Sookie?
Look at Consuela trying to stop him!"
"That boy grew up right on this block," Stan said proudly. "We
should save this footage, Joanie. I always knew that kid would go
places. This tape might be of historic value someday."
"Who is he?" Stone asked.
"The next Bill Gates," Joan said. "A millionaire by the time he was
eighteen. Software. He invented a whole new computer language. Got a
full scholarship to Princeton."
Ryan rolled his eyes.
"What's that?" Stone stopped the tape and rewound.
"HoHo's act," Stan said.
The clown waved a red silk scarf overhead like a banner.
"Something else going by. Looks like it stopped for a minute," Burch
said. "Hard to tell between the trees, with all that glare from the
sun."
They continued to watch.
"Hey, there it is again." Nazario leaned toward the screen.
HoHo reached deep into his throat and dramatically withdrew the long
red scarf.
"Now watch this," Ryan said. "Here it comes. The big baboomba!"
Cheers, applause. A loud
whoosh
.
"Fireworks!" A glowing eight-year-old Ryan, arms raised in
jubilation, birthday crown askew.
Jerky camera movements. Smoke and flame. An explosion, empty sky,
treetops, a pony bolting, a man chasing after him. Chunks of burning
wreckage falling like meteors. Sookie scrambling, tail between her legs.
Car and house alarms wailing. Flames, orange and red against
brilliant blue sky. Pudgy legs churning. Stan sprinting. Children
screaming. The screen went dark as the camera hit the ground.
"I dropped it," Joan said in a voice thin with remembrance. "Or
threw it down. I can't remember which."
The room stayed quiet for a moment.
"Should have kept shooting, Mom. You could have sold it to
America's
Funniest Home Videos
."
"You're a sick kid," his father said.
"Can we borrow the tape?" Burch asked.
* * *
"God bless Americans and their video cameras," Nazario said in the
car.
"Nice people," Burch said. "Real nice. Notice how they kept
finishing each other's sentences?"
"Yeah. Sometimes you forget there are still families like that. We
heading over to see the widow?"
"Yeah. I gotta stop on
* * *
They gathered around the blond wood entertainment center. Bowls of
popcorn and half a dozen soft drinks on the coffee table. Nazario and
Burch on the couch, Stone slouched in a leather chair. Stan, Joan, and
Nipsy, the Jack Russell, shared the love seat. Ryan inserted the tape
into the VCR and sprawled on the floor.
The detectives watched silently.
"Ohhhhh," Joan crooned, as a golden retriever loped through a gaggle
of children. "There's Sookie. How I loved that dog. And look, look at
Vanessa, she was only five then."
"Consuela looks so young," Ryan said.
"We all do," Stan said. "I had more hair and less stomach."
"We have to show this to Consuela on Tuesday," Joan said. "Look at
you, honey!" She patted Stan's knee. "Whatever happened to your chef's
hat?"
"There's HoHo!" Ryan said.
"And the cake!" Joan laughed aloud. "The racquet, not the rocket! I
forgot about that!"
Stone leaned forward in his chair, wondering on some vague level why
people were laughing. He slid onto the thick carpet next to Ryan. "Can
you stop it? Back it up. There. More, more."
Ryan handed the remote to the detective.
"Okay, what is that?" Stone asked.
"What?" the Walkers chorused.
"Passing on the street, in the background."
"That reddish blur?" Stan asked.
"Right."
"Traffic of some sort. A car, I guess." Stan chewed his popcorn
thoughtfully. "We didn't have much traffic on our street back then.
What do you think, Joanie?"
"Remember the Camachos? You know. Four doors down, in the old Tate
house? Sissy, their teenager, had a red Mustang back then. That might
have been her coming home." She shrugged. "It could be anybody."
Stone flicked the remote and the tape resumed.
"Look, look," she cried. "There's Lionel!"
"Where?" Burch squinted at the tape. "Who's Lionel?"
"Right there. That's him." Joan gasped. "What's he doing to Sookie?
Look at Consuela trying to stop him!"
"That boy grew up right on this block," Stan said proudly. "We
should save this footage, Joanie. I always knew that kid would go
places. This tape might be of historic value someday."
"Who is he?" Stone asked.
"The next Bill Gates," Joan said. "A millionaire by the time he was
eighteen. Software. He invented a whole new computer language. Got a
full scholarship to Princeton."
Ryan rolled his eyes.
"What's that?" Stone stopped the tape and rewound.
"HoHo's act," Stan said.
The clown waved a red silk scarf overhead like a banner.
"Something else going by. Looks like it stopped for a minute," Burch
said. "Hard to tell between the trees, with all that glare from the
sun."
They continued to watch.
"Hey, there it is again." Nazario leaned toward the screen.
HoHo reached deep into his throat and dramatically withdrew the long
red scarf.
"Now watch this," Ryan said. "Here it comes. The big baboomba!"
Cheers, applause. A loud
whoosh
.
"Fireworks!" A glowing eight-year-old Ryan, arms raised in
jubilation, birthday crown askew.
Jerky camera movements. Smoke and flame. An explosion, empty sky,
treetops, a pony bolting, a man chasing after him. Chunks of burning
wreckage falling like meteors. Sookie scrambling, tail between her legs.
Car and house alarms wailing. Flames, orange and red against
brilliant blue sky. Pudgy legs churning. Stan sprinting. Children
screaming. The screen went dark as the camera hit the ground.
"I dropped it," Joan said in a voice thin with remembrance. "Or
threw it down. I can't remember which."
The room stayed quiet for a moment.
"Should have kept shooting, Mom. You could have sold it to
America's
Funniest Home Videos
."
"You're a sick kid," his father said.
"Can we borrow the tape?" Burch asked.
* * *
"God bless Americans and their video cameras," Nazario said in the
car.
"Nice people," Burch said. "Real nice. Notice how they kept
finishing each other's sentences?"
"Yeah. Sometimes you forget there are still families like that. We
heading over to see the widow?"
"Yeah. I gotta stop on
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