Read Online Swamp Bones by Kathy Reichs - Free Book Online Page B

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, frowning.
    Odd. Pierce had gotten a heads-up from Yellen. He should have been expecting me. “I’ve got the warrant for Kiley James’s locker.” I produced the document again.
    “Great. I’ll take that,” Reaching out. “You can wait up front.”
    A tiny alarm pinged in my head.
    “Thanks, but I’ll stick around.” Tucking the warrant back into my pocket.
    Pierce’s eyes bore into mine. They were dark. Unreadable. I realized I’d never seen them before. They’d always been hidden by dark lenses.
    “This is my beat.” Pierce gave what I’m sure he considered a lady-killer smile. Probably practiced in the mirror every time he shaved. “We do things my way.”
    “Yellen asked me to inventory the contents of the locker.” Not exactly, but the arrogant prick was pissing me off.
    Another long stare. Then, “Fine. But you look when I’m done. And touch nothing.”
    “I work with law enforcement in two countries.” I issued an abbreviated form of a smile. “I know evidence collection protocol.”
    Before Pierce could reply, the door opened and a ranger walked in.
    “Hey, Scott.” The kid looked twelve, with shaggy blond hair and acned skin.
    Pierce gave a curt nod.
    “What’s up?” the kid asked, oblivious to the tension. “You doing an inspection or something?”
    For the first time, I noted that a number of locker doors stood ajar.
    Pierce shrugged. “No clue. They were open when I got here. Probably maintenance.”
    The kid went to a locker, twisted the dial on a combo lock, and flipped the door wide.
    Pierce and I both waited him out. Couldn’t say why. Maybe respect for the woman whose belongings we were about to rummage.
    The kid took something from his locker, slammed and relocked it, then left, calling over one shoulder, “Catch ya later!”
    When the door closed, Pierce refocused on me.
    “Locker number?” Glacial.
    Again, I hesitated, wishing Yellen were there. Even Lundberg. Why the apprehension?Just because he was an asshole didn’t mean he wasn’t good at his job.
    “Fifty-three,” I said.
    Pierce picked up a bolt cutter I hadn’t noticed and crossed to the specified locker.
    “Stay back.” With an effortless move he severed one of the double prongs, maneuvered the lock free, and opened the door. His body blocked my view of the locker’s interior. Intentional?
    “Shouldn’t you wear gloves?” I asked his back.
    Without replying, he held up the pen he was using to sift through things I couldn’t see.
    A full minute passed, then he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Actually, I could use gloves. Do you mind? They’re in the supply cabinet out in the hall.”
    Again the ping. Why couldn’t Pierce get his own damn gloves? I wasn’t his gofer. But I
was
on his turf. And clearly unwelcome.
    “Sure,” I agreed. Reluctantly.
    “Grab a pair for yourself.” Suddenly Mr. Congenial.
    I went to the corridor, found the cabinet, and returned two minutes later. Pierce hadn’t moved.
    “Here.” I held out a pair of green surgical gloves.
    “Thanks.”
    As Pierce pivoted, took the gloves, and snapped them on, I looked past him to the locker’s interior. A fleece jacket hung from a hook. A pair of flip-flops lay on the bottom. The shelf held sunscreen, a box of tissues, a hairbrush, and a small stack of magazines. I couldn’t see what was stored behind the front row of items.
    “There’s not much.” Pierce followed my gaze.
    “The journal?”
    Pierce shook his head. “Damn shame. I was hoping it might help catch this bastard.”
    I felt a twinge of guilt for my unkind thoughts. The guy was probably just doing his job.
    “You want help with the inventory?” Pierce asked.
    “Thanks.” I dug a pen and small spiral from my purse.
    Pierce called out articles as he removed them from the locker. I recorded each. In addition to what had been obvious at first glance, there were granola bars, a box of tampons, lip balm, dirty socks.