Read Online the Viking Funeral (2001) by Stephen - Scully 02 Cannell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen - Scully 02 Cannell
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wheeled out and put into the coroner's wagon. The windowless, black Econoline van pulled slowly away from the little Spanish house, taking its resident away for the last time.
Shane looked at Alexa, who had regained her composure but seemed drained, almost shrunken, standing in front of Mark Shephard's house, watching his corpse leave.
"Tough, huh?" he finally said.
She nodded but didn't say anything.
"Listen, I think we need to go someplace and talk about this," he suggested softly.
She looked at him, her gaze unfocused, her features pulled tight in an expression that seemed trapped somewhere between a frown and a squint, reflecting her emotional devastation. She nodded but still didn't speak.
"You hungry?" he asked.
This time she shook her head.
Jesus, for the love of God, say something. Vm dying here. But Shane said only: "I could use some food. Lemme buy you some coffee."
She finally spoke. One word, only two letters; sounding hesitant and unsure.
"Okay."
Shane had told the ME that he suspected the fatal shot was a light load. The ME concurred, also referencing the wider tattooing and the lack of an exit wound. Shane told the ME they were leaving and left his pager number, then drove Alexa's Crown Vic back toward Venice while she looked glumly at the passing neighborhoods.
They hadn't spoken about it, but with her downer brother safely out of town, Shane had intended for her to move back in, to spend the night in his bed at 874 East Canal Street. He stopped a block away from his house at a small restaurant on the beach.
The place was called the Hungry Termite, which always struck Shane as an unlikely, unappetizing name. He had never been able to find out why it was called that, but the cover of the menu had a stick drawing of a termite eating a sandwich. They sat at a patio table and listened to the surf crashing on the sand a few hundred yards away.
"I'm sure Buddy got to the airport okay," Shane offered, to get the conversation rolling.
"Good..."
"I'm afraid I didn't turn out to be much of a taxi service for him."
Again she just nodded.
"Alexa, we need to get the needle off deep grief for a minute and start thinking more like cops," he said, angry at the way she was behaving. It was almost as if she'd been sleeping with the guy.
"Christ, Shane, gimme a little time to deal with this. He was a good friend."
"Right. He was a good friend. I get that, but I'm not so sure this isn't somehow connected to Jody being back."
"Jody?" She seemed appalled at the suggestion. "Good God, Shane, Jody again? We're still on that?"
"I don't think Commander Shephard killed himself," Shane said, and the remark sat there between them, a big unwashed idea with absolutely no hard evidence supporting it.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm just doing police work here, okay? I'm trying to make sense of this."
"Right. Jody is alive. Got it. Makes great fucking sense."
"Alexa, you've been with me during a pretty intense investigation. In fact, it was a good enough investigation to win you the Medal of Valor." Shit, Shane thought, he was now sort of bitching to her about not sharing the award. But she didn't react, so he went on: "You know I can look at facts and construct truth, or at least sometimes I can." Hating the way this was going, sitting here, doing his own dumb - ass commercial while she swirled her coffee around in a chipped Hungry Termite mug using a stainless-steel spoon. "There's a lot of stuff on this unnatural death I don't like the look of."
"Let's call it suicide since that's what it is," she said. When he didn't answer, she added, "I'm listening." But there was a dead, listless quality to her voice.
"Okay, why would he shoot himself with a light load?"
"Distraught."
"Come on, I don't buy it. He's gonna take a chance on coming out a vegetable? You ever see a cop do a Dutch Treat with a light load?"
"Shane, people do stupid things in times of stress. Mark was obviously stressed. He... he.. . G od.... Do we have
Shane looked at Alexa, who had regained her composure but seemed drained, almost shrunken, standing in front of Mark Shephard's house, watching his corpse leave.
"Tough, huh?" he finally said.
She nodded but didn't say anything.
"Listen, I think we need to go someplace and talk about this," he suggested softly.
She looked at him, her gaze unfocused, her features pulled tight in an expression that seemed trapped somewhere between a frown and a squint, reflecting her emotional devastation. She nodded but still didn't speak.
"You hungry?" he asked.
This time she shook her head.
Jesus, for the love of God, say something. Vm dying here. But Shane said only: "I could use some food. Lemme buy you some coffee."
She finally spoke. One word, only two letters; sounding hesitant and unsure.
"Okay."
Shane had told the ME that he suspected the fatal shot was a light load. The ME concurred, also referencing the wider tattooing and the lack of an exit wound. Shane told the ME they were leaving and left his pager number, then drove Alexa's Crown Vic back toward Venice while she looked glumly at the passing neighborhoods.
They hadn't spoken about it, but with her downer brother safely out of town, Shane had intended for her to move back in, to spend the night in his bed at 874 East Canal Street. He stopped a block away from his house at a small restaurant on the beach.
The place was called the Hungry Termite, which always struck Shane as an unlikely, unappetizing name. He had never been able to find out why it was called that, but the cover of the menu had a stick drawing of a termite eating a sandwich. They sat at a patio table and listened to the surf crashing on the sand a few hundred yards away.
"I'm sure Buddy got to the airport okay," Shane offered, to get the conversation rolling.
"Good..."
"I'm afraid I didn't turn out to be much of a taxi service for him."
Again she just nodded.
"Alexa, we need to get the needle off deep grief for a minute and start thinking more like cops," he said, angry at the way she was behaving. It was almost as if she'd been sleeping with the guy.
"Christ, Shane, gimme a little time to deal with this. He was a good friend."
"Right. He was a good friend. I get that, but I'm not so sure this isn't somehow connected to Jody being back."
"Jody?" She seemed appalled at the suggestion. "Good God, Shane, Jody again? We're still on that?"
"I don't think Commander Shephard killed himself," Shane said, and the remark sat there between them, a big unwashed idea with absolutely no hard evidence supporting it.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm just doing police work here, okay? I'm trying to make sense of this."
"Right. Jody is alive. Got it. Makes great fucking sense."
"Alexa, you've been with me during a pretty intense investigation. In fact, it was a good enough investigation to win you the Medal of Valor." Shit, Shane thought, he was now sort of bitching to her about not sharing the award. But she didn't react, so he went on: "You know I can look at facts and construct truth, or at least sometimes I can." Hating the way this was going, sitting here, doing his own dumb - ass commercial while she swirled her coffee around in a chipped Hungry Termite mug using a stainless-steel spoon. "There's a lot of stuff on this unnatural death I don't like the look of."
"Let's call it suicide since that's what it is," she said. When he didn't answer, she added, "I'm listening." But there was a dead, listless quality to her voice.
"Okay, why would he shoot himself with a light load?"
"Distraught."
"Come on, I don't buy it. He's gonna take a chance on coming out a vegetable? You ever see a cop do a Dutch Treat with a light load?"
"Shane, people do stupid things in times of stress. Mark was obviously stressed. He... he.. . G od.... Do we have
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