Read Online Skies of Ash by Rachel Howzell Hall - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Howzell Hall
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pay.” She straightened and lifted her chin. “Juliet and Christopher, Chloe… They deserve justice. My
daughter
deserves justice. I’m sure you’ll see to that, Detective Norton.”
“That’s my job,” I said. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I am, too. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
I took a step back to the paper towel dispenser.
She glided to the middle stall like a swan across a pond. Before disappearing behind the locked metal door, she tossed me a smile so bright it fed the sun.
9
THE HOT, DISEASED BREATH OF THE HOSPITAL WAS WAITING FOR COLIN AND ME AS we returned to the main lobby. We rushed toward the exit for the parking lot, lips clamped together as the sick lurched and coughed and spat into tissues. Outside, the air smelled of exhaust and cigarette smoke, the regular carcinogenic stink that caused domestic diseases like lung cancer and COPD.
After inhaling a few pounds of poison, Colin said, “So Christopher Chatman.”
“What about him?” I opened the Crown Vic’s driver’s-side door and slipped behind the steering wheel.
“All that ruckus and the waving arms and all that. Really?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re such a cynic, Colin.”
“You don’t get the impression that he’s puttin’ on?”
“Would you rally back quickly if a beautiful woman was at your bedside and tending to your needs?”
“Hell no.” Colin chuckled. “My ass would be an invalid at all the right times, but strong and potent when it mattered.”
My fingers tapped across the car’s computer keyboard. “Looks like we were never called out to the Chatman house for domestic drama,” I said, scrolling through the address’s history. “Just the burglary back in 2009.”
Colin leaned into the car. “Any priors for him or her?”
I typed in Juliet Chatman’s name. “A speeding violation last year.” I typed in Christopher Chatman’s name. “And he’s totally clean. He’s even an organ donor.”
“The man’s a saint.”
“I wanna go back to the house,” I said. “See if Pepe and Luke found a MacGuffin.”
The temperature around the Chatmans’ property had cooled some, and heat no longer pulsed from the ground. Melting plastics and paints had hardened into stalactites, opaque orbs, and swamp things.
In the front yard, now lit with halogen lamps, firemen clomped in and out of the house, checking for hotspots, tearing venting holes into walls. On the perimeter, the last news crew reported live from the scene. Pepe was hunched over a crimson-brocaded couch. Luke was snapping pictures of all the items we had collected throughout the day.
“What’s up, ladies?” I asked.
Pepe wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his forearm. “People own a lot of shit. That’s what’s up.”
“We need some good food after this,” Luke said.
“It’s Pepe’s turn,” Colin said.
Pepe scrunched his eyebrows. “I got food on Friday.”
“AM-PM is not food, amigo,” Luke said. “I’m talkin’ six-pound Hollenbeck burritos with enough cheese and guacamole to constipate a walrus.”
“You
are
a walrus,” Colin cracked.
Luke flipped Colin the bird and said, smiling, “
Vete y chinga a tu madre
.”
Pepe groaned, then laughed.
“That’s illegal, Luke,” I said, shaking my head.
“What he say?” Colin asked. “Something about my mother? What was that other stuff?”
“Changing the subject,” I said. “Find anything good?”
“Remember the piece Miss Lady was packin’?” Luke asked. “We ran the serial number. It legally belonged to Juliet Chatman. She picked it up last Thursday at a gun store in Duarte.”
“Duarte?”
My eyes narrowed. “That’s, like, fifty miles east of here. Why not buy a gun at the store over in Culver City? That’s three miles away.”
“Did she fire it?” Colin asked.
“Nope,” Luke said. “Oh, and we never did find Mrs. Chatman’s car keys.”
“Think someone took them so she couldn’t leave?” I asked.
The men shrugged and
daughter
deserves justice. I’m sure you’ll see to that, Detective Norton.”
“That’s my job,” I said. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I am, too. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
I took a step back to the paper towel dispenser.
She glided to the middle stall like a swan across a pond. Before disappearing behind the locked metal door, she tossed me a smile so bright it fed the sun.
9
THE HOT, DISEASED BREATH OF THE HOSPITAL WAS WAITING FOR COLIN AND ME AS we returned to the main lobby. We rushed toward the exit for the parking lot, lips clamped together as the sick lurched and coughed and spat into tissues. Outside, the air smelled of exhaust and cigarette smoke, the regular carcinogenic stink that caused domestic diseases like lung cancer and COPD.
After inhaling a few pounds of poison, Colin said, “So Christopher Chatman.”
“What about him?” I opened the Crown Vic’s driver’s-side door and slipped behind the steering wheel.
“All that ruckus and the waving arms and all that. Really?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re such a cynic, Colin.”
“You don’t get the impression that he’s puttin’ on?”
“Would you rally back quickly if a beautiful woman was at your bedside and tending to your needs?”
“Hell no.” Colin chuckled. “My ass would be an invalid at all the right times, but strong and potent when it mattered.”
My fingers tapped across the car’s computer keyboard. “Looks like we were never called out to the Chatman house for domestic drama,” I said, scrolling through the address’s history. “Just the burglary back in 2009.”
Colin leaned into the car. “Any priors for him or her?”
I typed in Juliet Chatman’s name. “A speeding violation last year.” I typed in Christopher Chatman’s name. “And he’s totally clean. He’s even an organ donor.”
“The man’s a saint.”
“I wanna go back to the house,” I said. “See if Pepe and Luke found a MacGuffin.”
The temperature around the Chatmans’ property had cooled some, and heat no longer pulsed from the ground. Melting plastics and paints had hardened into stalactites, opaque orbs, and swamp things.
In the front yard, now lit with halogen lamps, firemen clomped in and out of the house, checking for hotspots, tearing venting holes into walls. On the perimeter, the last news crew reported live from the scene. Pepe was hunched over a crimson-brocaded couch. Luke was snapping pictures of all the items we had collected throughout the day.
“What’s up, ladies?” I asked.
Pepe wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his forearm. “People own a lot of shit. That’s what’s up.”
“We need some good food after this,” Luke said.
“It’s Pepe’s turn,” Colin said.
Pepe scrunched his eyebrows. “I got food on Friday.”
“AM-PM is not food, amigo,” Luke said. “I’m talkin’ six-pound Hollenbeck burritos with enough cheese and guacamole to constipate a walrus.”
“You
are
a walrus,” Colin cracked.
Luke flipped Colin the bird and said, smiling, “
Vete y chinga a tu madre
.”
Pepe groaned, then laughed.
“That’s illegal, Luke,” I said, shaking my head.
“What he say?” Colin asked. “Something about my mother? What was that other stuff?”
“Changing the subject,” I said. “Find anything good?”
“Remember the piece Miss Lady was packin’?” Luke asked. “We ran the serial number. It legally belonged to Juliet Chatman. She picked it up last Thursday at a gun store in Duarte.”
“Duarte?”
My eyes narrowed. “That’s, like, fifty miles east of here. Why not buy a gun at the store over in Culver City? That’s three miles away.”
“Did she fire it?” Colin asked.
“Nope,” Luke said. “Oh, and we never did find Mrs. Chatman’s car keys.”
“Think someone took them so she couldn’t leave?” I asked.
The men shrugged and
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