Read Online The Devil's Menagerie by Louis Charbonneau - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis Charbonneau
Ads: Link
with a background of muted jazz. When the set ended Braden recognized the voice of a Long Beach DJ , one of those who served up vintage jazz and provided listeners with the names and personal histories of every instrumentalist.
When Braden slipped into the booth opposite Harry Malkowski, the young man jumped.
“Detective Braden,” the detective said, offering Harry a flash of his badge before returning it to his jacket pocket. “You’re Harry Malkowski?”
“Uh … yeah. That’s with an ‘l.’”
“Got it. You made that 911 call.”—Braden consulted his notes, although it wasn’t necessary—“at five-forty-two this morning.”
Malkowski licked his lips. His right leg projected into the aisle and it kept jumping up and down. Braden figured his nervousness was normal. Most people were nervous when confronted by a policeman, especially under unusual circumstances like these.
Harry Malkowski was a thin, dark-haired youth, perhaps twenty-one years old, no more than a hundred and fifty pounds, maybe five eight when he stood up straight. Narrow chest and shoulders, small hands with long, sensitive fingers. Braden couldn’t picture him lifting the girl over the guardrail of the highway bridge, but you never knew.
He couldn’t picture those hands battering the girl to death, with or without brass knuckles.
A waitress with a full head of frizzy blond hair, a short skirt, button nose and an impudent smile brought him a cup of coffee. The name tag on her bosom read Iris. Braden sipped at his hot coffee, studying Harry Malkowski in silence. Harry couldn’t hold his stare. His eyes jumped around the coffee shop as if searching for a way to escape.
“Tell me, Harry, what were you doing out on the highway at that hour of the morning?”
“I always go out early on weekends—I mean, with my bike. It’s the best time, there aren’t too many people out.”
“See anyone else out this morning?”
“Uh, no … maybe one or two in town, but not on … on the highway.”
“You nervous, Harry?”
“Uh, no … no, I’m not … it’s just that, uh, seeing her like that shook me up. The girl …”
“You were on the bike path, right?”
“Yeah, you don’t dare ride on the highway. Some of those drivers will force you off the road just for kicks.”
“Did you notice any particular cars on the road? Before you came to that bridge?”
“No … I guess there might have been a little traffic, but I wasn’t paying attention. There was hardly any, I know that. When I stopped at the bridge, you know, it was eerie, like I was completely alone out there. There wasn’t a sound except for the birds. The fog was kinda thick, swirling around. I mean, it was eerie.”
“What made you stop there?”
“I didn’t stop. I mean, uh, I just saw her out of the corner of my eye. Shit, I ran into the railing, I couldn’t stop myself. Uh … sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”
“Well, I mean, that’s it, you know. I saw her, and I stopped. I couldn’t believe it at first. But when I looked I could see it was a girl, you know, just lying there.”
“How close did you look, Harry? Did you climb down there by the creek?”
“No! No, I just looked over from the bridge—the wooden overpass on the bike path. You can see for yourself, it’s not very far from the highway. I could see her all right. I didn’t have to get any closer.”
“How did you know she was dead?”
“Well, uh, I just … it was the way she was lying there, facedown and, uh, not wearing anything, you know. I just assumed.” Remembering that startling vision, Harry Malkowski turned pale. He licked his lips again. “I rode back to the Bright Spot as fast as I could and called 911. Wasn’t that, uh, the right thing to do? I mean, should I have gone down there to make sure …?”
“You did fine,” Braden said.
He leaned back in the booth, glancing around the diner as he sipped his coffee, which had become lukewarm. The blond
When Braden slipped into the booth opposite Harry Malkowski, the young man jumped.
“Detective Braden,” the detective said, offering Harry a flash of his badge before returning it to his jacket pocket. “You’re Harry Malkowski?”
“Uh … yeah. That’s with an ‘l.’”
“Got it. You made that 911 call.”—Braden consulted his notes, although it wasn’t necessary—“at five-forty-two this morning.”
Malkowski licked his lips. His right leg projected into the aisle and it kept jumping up and down. Braden figured his nervousness was normal. Most people were nervous when confronted by a policeman, especially under unusual circumstances like these.
Harry Malkowski was a thin, dark-haired youth, perhaps twenty-one years old, no more than a hundred and fifty pounds, maybe five eight when he stood up straight. Narrow chest and shoulders, small hands with long, sensitive fingers. Braden couldn’t picture him lifting the girl over the guardrail of the highway bridge, but you never knew.
He couldn’t picture those hands battering the girl to death, with or without brass knuckles.
A waitress with a full head of frizzy blond hair, a short skirt, button nose and an impudent smile brought him a cup of coffee. The name tag on her bosom read Iris. Braden sipped at his hot coffee, studying Harry Malkowski in silence. Harry couldn’t hold his stare. His eyes jumped around the coffee shop as if searching for a way to escape.
“Tell me, Harry, what were you doing out on the highway at that hour of the morning?”
“I always go out early on weekends—I mean, with my bike. It’s the best time, there aren’t too many people out.”
“See anyone else out this morning?”
“Uh, no … maybe one or two in town, but not on … on the highway.”
“You nervous, Harry?”
“Uh, no … no, I’m not … it’s just that, uh, seeing her like that shook me up. The girl …”
“You were on the bike path, right?”
“Yeah, you don’t dare ride on the highway. Some of those drivers will force you off the road just for kicks.”
“Did you notice any particular cars on the road? Before you came to that bridge?”
“No … I guess there might have been a little traffic, but I wasn’t paying attention. There was hardly any, I know that. When I stopped at the bridge, you know, it was eerie, like I was completely alone out there. There wasn’t a sound except for the birds. The fog was kinda thick, swirling around. I mean, it was eerie.”
“What made you stop there?”
“I didn’t stop. I mean, uh, I just saw her out of the corner of my eye. Shit, I ran into the railing, I couldn’t stop myself. Uh … sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”
“Well, I mean, that’s it, you know. I saw her, and I stopped. I couldn’t believe it at first. But when I looked I could see it was a girl, you know, just lying there.”
“How close did you look, Harry? Did you climb down there by the creek?”
“No! No, I just looked over from the bridge—the wooden overpass on the bike path. You can see for yourself, it’s not very far from the highway. I could see her all right. I didn’t have to get any closer.”
“How did you know she was dead?”
“Well, uh, I just … it was the way she was lying there, facedown and, uh, not wearing anything, you know. I just assumed.” Remembering that startling vision, Harry Malkowski turned pale. He licked his lips again. “I rode back to the Bright Spot as fast as I could and called 911. Wasn’t that, uh, the right thing to do? I mean, should I have gone down there to make sure …?”
“You did fine,” Braden said.
He leaned back in the booth, glancing around the diner as he sipped his coffee, which had become lukewarm. The blond
Similar Books
