Read Online Scavenger Hunt by Robert Ferrigno - Free Book Online Page B

There’s going to be reporters all over this story.”
    “Sure, Jimmy, share and share alike, you and me, we’ll have a regular circle jerk. Hey, Commoro!” Katz’s voice echoed off the surrounding hills. “You puke on my floater, you’re going to be directing traffic at Disneyland until your nuts drop!”
    Commoro was shaking as he pulled off one of his rubber gloves. He took a shallow breath, held it, and plunged his bare hand into the murky water, setting Walsh’s body rolling as he reached around. He suddenly held up Walsh’s sunglasses. One of the lenses was cracked.
    “Bag ’em,” said Katz.
    Commoro’s look of triumph turned to shock as what was left of Walsh’s face came briefly into view.
    “They go for the eyes first, the soft parts,” Katz said conversationally, batting away flies. “They swim right inside the mouth going after the tongue.”
    “What kind of fish are these, detective?” said Commoro, hand on his pistol. “Piranha?”
    “Koi, officer,” soothed the professor. “Quite harmless, I assure you.”
    “There’s not a fish alive that won’t eat dead meat,” Katz said to Jimmy. “These assholes who keep tropical fish—goldfish are just Dobermans with fins, if you ask me.”
    “Detective?” Sergeant Rollings lumbered over to them, a fleshy old-timer sweating in the sun, counting the coffee breaks until retirement. “I finished the preliminary with the two civies and checked on the meat wagon—they should be here in five or ten minutes.” He hitched his pants, his blue uniform so wrinkled it looked deliberate. “Hey, Jimmy, loved the picture of you with the twins. How do I get your job?”
    “How are you doing, Ted?”
    “My hemorrhoids are acting up, and this heat ain’t helping.” Rollings watched the rookie standing in the koi pond. “Hey, Commoro, you need a license to fish!”
    “Start a walkaround on the ridgeline, sergeant,” said Katz. “Keep your eyes out for anything that might indicate someone had been up there watching the trailer.”
    Rollings looked up at the steep slope. “How about if I do a look-see inside the trailer instead? My bunions are killing me.”
    “Gum wrappers, cigarette butts, anything that you can find,” said Katz, as though she hadn’t heard him.
    Rollings hitched at his pants again, sighed, and shuffled away.
    “Can I come out now, detective?” Commoro sounded like he was twelve.
    “A doper tries walking on water, slips, cracks his head on a rock, and drowns. That’s my first impression,” said Katz. “But you don’t think it was an accident. What do you know that I don’t?” She shifted her stance, closer now. “You don’t want to make me wait, Jimmy. You really don’t.”
    “Walsh was working on a new screenplay,” said Jimmy. “We were going to have a little party today, then I was going to interview him and—”
    “That’s what you were doing in the trailer?” said Katz. “Getting the screenplay?”
    “It wasn’t there.”
    “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough.”
    “He was supposed to show it to us today. That’s why we were having the party.”
    “What was this screenplay about? Some kind of crime story?” Katz stroked her thick jaw. “Walsh writing about somebody he met in the joint? That could be dangerous. Nobody likes a snitch.” She smiled again at him. “So what was it about?”
    “I don’t know. Walsh said he didn’t give previews.”
    Katz stared at him with those hard blue eyes of hers, and Jimmy wondered if anyone had ever been able to look past them and see inside of her. “Commoro! Go toss that bag of briquettes onto the barbecue and fire them up.” Her eyes never left Jimmy.
    “Detective . . . ?” Commoro was more confused than ever now.
    “Go on, Ernesto,” Katz said to the uniform, gently now. She waited until Commoro splashed away, then grinned at Jimmy. “Wouldn’t want those steaks to go to waste.”
    “I just wanted you to know about the missing screenplay,”