Read Online Laying Down the Paw by Diane Kelly - Free Book Online Page B

front lip. “A few more details we’ve found out. Fingerprint analysis positively identified the victim as Brian Keith Samuelson. Samuelson has a conviction for possession of methamphetamines and has long been suspected of doing some occasional dealing in the area. Unfortunately, though we’ve now identified our victim, we still have no idea who might have killed him. Since we found drugs but no money on Samuelson, we suspect his murder was a drug deal gone bad. The medical examiner put his time of death around eight o’clock Sunday evening.”
    Eight o’clock Sunday night? That was about the time I’d been kissing Seth good-bye at my apartment. And what a kiss it had been. Soft. Warm. Somehow sweet and sexy at the same time, making my toes curl and my mind visualize white picket fences and vegetable gardens …
    â€œWe have one potential person of interest,” Jackson continued, pulling me from my picket-fenced reverie. “A woman who works at the zoo was walking to the bus stop on University a few minutes after her shift ended at eight. She says a man ran past her down Colonial Parkway headed toward Park Place. He had dark curly hair. He was wearing dark clothing. Average height. She estimated the man to be in his mid-twenties. Given that it was dark outside she didn’t get a good look at him, but she believes he’s either a dark-skinned Caucasian or a light-skinned African-American, but she said he could be Asian, middle-Eastern, or Latino.”
    So the only thing we knew for sure was that the guy who ran past her wasn’t unusually pale or dark. That didn’t narrow it down much. The pinched expression on Jackson’s face told me she’d been frustrated by the vague description, too.
    She held up a black-and-white drawing penned by a police sketch artist. The drawing showed a young man with lightly shaded skin and short, dark curls.
    The Big Dick snorted. “The guy was killed by Bruno Mars?”
    â€œNah,” replied one of the older officers in the middle of the crowd. “That’s a mid-eighties Michael Jackson.”
    Everyone seemed to be chiming in with opinions now, claiming the drawing looked like everyone from Usher to Shemar Moore to a young Barack Obama. Of course my mind went straight to Chris Brown, who had a documented history of violence.
    â€œEnough!” Jackson sliced the air with her hand, cutting off the chatter. “If you interact with anyone fitting this description,” she said, “find out where the person was Sunday night. Got it? I’m going out this morning to speak with a couple of men in W1 who have meth convictions on their records.” Her eyes met mine through the crowd. “Officer Luz, I’d like you to go with me.”
    Instinctively I stood up straighter, nodding. Yay! Detective Jackson was including me in the case! My first thought was that she’d asked me to accompany her because of my impressive detection skills, but when Brigit shifted on my feet, I realized the detective was probably more interested in my furry K-9 partner. Having a drug-detection dog along on the interrogation could be useful. I was only along for the ride, or, more precisely, because I could give Brigit a ride. I wasn’t a cop. I was a chauffeur. For a dog.
    â€œOfficer Mackey,” Jackson said, turning her eyes to the Big Dick, “I want you to escort me. Both of the men we’ll be visiting have violent records.”
    She didn’t explain why she’d chosen Derek in particular to serve as her security detail, but she didn’t have to. The Big Dick had a reputation for being the bravest cop in W1, maybe the bravest in all of FWPD. Of course there’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and Derek sometimes crossed it. So far he’d been lucky when he had crossed the line. At any rate, he’d make a good bodyguard for Jackson should things go south during this morning’s