Read Online Kill You Twice by Chelsea Cain - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chelsea Cain
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that.”
“Lightning strike.”
“Fell asleep with a lit cigarette?”
“Could be murder.”
“I guess we shouldn’t rule it out,” Archie said.
Henry reached into his pants pockets, pulled out a pack of gum, and offered it to Archie. He took a piece. A lot of cops chewed gum at murder scenes. It helped to ameliorate the smell. It was
not a habit that Archie had ever embraced. Something about it had always struck him as disrespectful. Cops who wouldn’t dream of chewing gum in church would stuff a wad of bubble gum between
their teeth at the first whiff of decomp.
Facing the smell of roasted human flesh, Archie could see the wisdom in it. He put the gum into his mouth. It was spearmint, and unsettlingly warm from being in Henry’s pocket.
Henry also had a piece of gum, and the two men stood together taking in the crime scene as the human remains continued to smolder at their feet.
Only the center of the sign was blackened, a few of the letters partially melted, some of the support scaffolding tarry where it had been singed. Archie guessed that the victim had been tied to
the sign. The fire must have burned through the rope or cord, and the body then dropped to the roof. He redirected his attention to the remains.
Henry, who must have been thinking the same thing, pointed out a snake of ash that could have been the remnants of a burned ligature. “Right there,” he said.
Ozone concerns aside, the portland, oregon sign was a city treasure. Vendors sold postcards with that sign on them, and silk-screened mugs. This wasn’t some grove of trees in an
out-of-the-way corner of Mount Tabor Park. This was public. Which made it risky.
“Why the change in venue?” Henry said. “Nature not his scene?”
Archie heard a ruckus and he and Henry turned to see Robbins, who had just come out the stairway door and had apparently accidentally kicked over several firefighter helmets, which he was now
trying to gather up.
Robbins was wearing a new Tyvek suit, which, in the bright sun, was so unsoiled and so sparkling and so white that it was nearly blinding. After a few apologetic gestures to the remaining
firefighters, he made his way over to Archie and Henry, carrying his ME’s case. If the smell bothered him, he didn’t show it, but he did give the ledge behind them a leery look.
“I don’t like heights,” he said.
“I thought you rock-climbed,” Henry said.
“When I rock-climb,” Robbins said, “I don’t look down.”
Another gust of wind blew over the roof, and more ash swirled up into the air and seemed to hang there above them.
“Heights,” Archie repeated softly to himself. He glanced past Henry and Robbins, over the ledge, where the Willamette, the source of such an ugly flood just months before, sparkled
bright and blue and tranquil. He could see Mount Tabor from there, and the green residential neighborhoods of the east side. A freighter making its way up the river looked like a toy. A mile south,
Archie noticed that the Hawthorne Bridge was up, letting a dinner cruise paddle ship called the Portland Spirit go under it, while a few dozen cars waited. From up there the city looked vast
and pretty and bright and small. Archie thought about Susan and what she had said about the tree. That was the common denominator. He brushed off a fine mist of ash that had settled on his
shoulders. “Jake Kelly was tied to a tree,” he said. “Not just a tree—the tallest tree.” He looked at Henry and Robbins. “This is all about heights.”
CHAPTER
14
S usan’s purse was in a locker in the lobby. No cell phones. No cigarettes. No lighters. Basically everything in her
purse was contraband. They had taken her studded skinny red belt, her long beads, and her shoulder-grazing earrings. Now she didn’t have any accessories at all. She pushed a hand into her
pants pockets and felt for the locker key they’d given her. It was still there. But she missed the comforting weight of the purse strap
“Lightning strike.”
“Fell asleep with a lit cigarette?”
“Could be murder.”
“I guess we shouldn’t rule it out,” Archie said.
Henry reached into his pants pockets, pulled out a pack of gum, and offered it to Archie. He took a piece. A lot of cops chewed gum at murder scenes. It helped to ameliorate the smell. It was
not a habit that Archie had ever embraced. Something about it had always struck him as disrespectful. Cops who wouldn’t dream of chewing gum in church would stuff a wad of bubble gum between
their teeth at the first whiff of decomp.
Facing the smell of roasted human flesh, Archie could see the wisdom in it. He put the gum into his mouth. It was spearmint, and unsettlingly warm from being in Henry’s pocket.
Henry also had a piece of gum, and the two men stood together taking in the crime scene as the human remains continued to smolder at their feet.
Only the center of the sign was blackened, a few of the letters partially melted, some of the support scaffolding tarry where it had been singed. Archie guessed that the victim had been tied to
the sign. The fire must have burned through the rope or cord, and the body then dropped to the roof. He redirected his attention to the remains.
Henry, who must have been thinking the same thing, pointed out a snake of ash that could have been the remnants of a burned ligature. “Right there,” he said.
Ozone concerns aside, the portland, oregon sign was a city treasure. Vendors sold postcards with that sign on them, and silk-screened mugs. This wasn’t some grove of trees in an
out-of-the-way corner of Mount Tabor Park. This was public. Which made it risky.
“Why the change in venue?” Henry said. “Nature not his scene?”
Archie heard a ruckus and he and Henry turned to see Robbins, who had just come out the stairway door and had apparently accidentally kicked over several firefighter helmets, which he was now
trying to gather up.
Robbins was wearing a new Tyvek suit, which, in the bright sun, was so unsoiled and so sparkling and so white that it was nearly blinding. After a few apologetic gestures to the remaining
firefighters, he made his way over to Archie and Henry, carrying his ME’s case. If the smell bothered him, he didn’t show it, but he did give the ledge behind them a leery look.
“I don’t like heights,” he said.
“I thought you rock-climbed,” Henry said.
“When I rock-climb,” Robbins said, “I don’t look down.”
Another gust of wind blew over the roof, and more ash swirled up into the air and seemed to hang there above them.
“Heights,” Archie repeated softly to himself. He glanced past Henry and Robbins, over the ledge, where the Willamette, the source of such an ugly flood just months before, sparkled
bright and blue and tranquil. He could see Mount Tabor from there, and the green residential neighborhoods of the east side. A freighter making its way up the river looked like a toy. A mile south,
Archie noticed that the Hawthorne Bridge was up, letting a dinner cruise paddle ship called the Portland Spirit go under it, while a few dozen cars waited. From up there the city looked vast
and pretty and bright and small. Archie thought about Susan and what she had said about the tree. That was the common denominator. He brushed off a fine mist of ash that had settled on his
shoulders. “Jake Kelly was tied to a tree,” he said. “Not just a tree—the tallest tree.” He looked at Henry and Robbins. “This is all about heights.”
CHAPTER
14
S usan’s purse was in a locker in the lobby. No cell phones. No cigarettes. No lighters. Basically everything in her
purse was contraband. They had taken her studded skinny red belt, her long beads, and her shoulder-grazing earrings. Now she didn’t have any accessories at all. She pushed a hand into her
pants pockets and felt for the locker key they’d given her. It was still there. But she missed the comforting weight of the purse strap
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