Read Online Trail of Blood by Lisa Black - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Black
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Suspense fiction, Crime, Serial Murderers, Murder, Investigation, Murder - Investigation, Cold cases (Criminal investigation), Women Forensic Scientists, Cleveland (Ohio), MacLean; Theresa (Fictitious character)
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1930s?”
He considered this, hand to chin. “I don’t believe so. People didn’t take photos of every single thing the way they do now. But we could look.” He stood up with the energy of a man half his age and held out his hand to her.
After being helped to her feet in such a courtly manner, she followed him from the room, past the mountaintop village.
“This must have taken years to build,” she told her host.
“Oh, this is merely an introduction to my world,” Edward Corliss told her. “Let me show you my real pride and joy.”
Chapter 8
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
PRESENT DAY
They passed through a white-on-white hallway and into a completely changed environment from the front room. No carpets interrupted the light hardwood floor and no draperies blocked the high windows. No furniture save for a waist-high platform in the center of the room, which had to measure ten feet by fifteen.
Corliss stood at one end and turned a crank to roll up the clear plastic sheet that floated on the top, supported by metal rods placed in strategic locations.
No quaint village here. Highways, skyscrapers, and houses upon houses, through which the trains flowed, met, separated, and looped around again on the shores of a blue—“It’s Cleveland,” Theresa exclaimed. “You’ve modeled Cleveland.”
“From Rocky River to Shaker Heights.” Corliss bent over one corner of the platform, opened an electrical box, and flipped several switches. Tiny bulbs lit up in the windows of the office buildings, the airport, gas stations. Trains chugged to life.
“You even have the rapid transit cars.” Theresa watched one of the electric commuter vehicles, on which she’d spent so many hours over the years, glide along beside a locomotive. Both at 1:64 scale, of course.
Even Jablonski seemed impressed. He took some stills, then switched back to the camcorder, its lens sweeping the model city from end to end.
Frank said nothing but circled the tableau as if he expected to witness the model citizenry engaging in various crimes. He needn’t have worried. The replicated city had every accoutrement down to park benches but not one citizen. Theresa did not find that surprising—they’d have had to be the size of ants and number in the hundreds to populate this metropolis.
“Here’s the Medical Examiner’s Office.” Theresa could have spent an hour noting every detail to the display. “How long did this take you to build?”
“About a year, I suppose. But I’m never really done. I’m always tinkering with it—I spent three days on the swing bridge this past week after its motor decided to quit. Then I decided to make it winter—at least in part of the city. Here, let me show you.”
He picked up a pint-sized plastic container and popped off the lid. Before she could react, he scooped up her hand and immersed her fingers into the white goo. “Brush it on the trees like this, lightly, so it sort of frosts them but not completely.”
It had been a long time since a man held her hand. The white stuff felt like cottage cheese but drier, the tiny plastic limbs rough but flexible. Under her fingers, Christmas came to Cleveland.
“Do you ever crash them?” Jablonski asked, tapping one engine as it went by.
“Of course not!” its creator snapped. “And don’t touch that!”
“Sorry.”
“I could stand here all day.” Frank’s voice sounded patently unconvincing, but perhaps only to someone who’d known him since her birth.
“But we really do need to learn more about your father’s building.”
“It’s here.” Theresa pointed out the stone structure’s miniature copy. It looked better in the model than in real life—tidy and still alive.
Frank raised an eyebrow to let her know she was being less than helpful. “Can we check for the photographs, please?”
“Certainly. You have to excuse me, I don’t get many opportunities to show it off. My neighbor is a fan, but other than him…”
He considered this, hand to chin. “I don’t believe so. People didn’t take photos of every single thing the way they do now. But we could look.” He stood up with the energy of a man half his age and held out his hand to her.
After being helped to her feet in such a courtly manner, she followed him from the room, past the mountaintop village.
“This must have taken years to build,” she told her host.
“Oh, this is merely an introduction to my world,” Edward Corliss told her. “Let me show you my real pride and joy.”
Chapter 8
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
PRESENT DAY
They passed through a white-on-white hallway and into a completely changed environment from the front room. No carpets interrupted the light hardwood floor and no draperies blocked the high windows. No furniture save for a waist-high platform in the center of the room, which had to measure ten feet by fifteen.
Corliss stood at one end and turned a crank to roll up the clear plastic sheet that floated on the top, supported by metal rods placed in strategic locations.
No quaint village here. Highways, skyscrapers, and houses upon houses, through which the trains flowed, met, separated, and looped around again on the shores of a blue—“It’s Cleveland,” Theresa exclaimed. “You’ve modeled Cleveland.”
“From Rocky River to Shaker Heights.” Corliss bent over one corner of the platform, opened an electrical box, and flipped several switches. Tiny bulbs lit up in the windows of the office buildings, the airport, gas stations. Trains chugged to life.
“You even have the rapid transit cars.” Theresa watched one of the electric commuter vehicles, on which she’d spent so many hours over the years, glide along beside a locomotive. Both at 1:64 scale, of course.
Even Jablonski seemed impressed. He took some stills, then switched back to the camcorder, its lens sweeping the model city from end to end.
Frank said nothing but circled the tableau as if he expected to witness the model citizenry engaging in various crimes. He needn’t have worried. The replicated city had every accoutrement down to park benches but not one citizen. Theresa did not find that surprising—they’d have had to be the size of ants and number in the hundreds to populate this metropolis.
“Here’s the Medical Examiner’s Office.” Theresa could have spent an hour noting every detail to the display. “How long did this take you to build?”
“About a year, I suppose. But I’m never really done. I’m always tinkering with it—I spent three days on the swing bridge this past week after its motor decided to quit. Then I decided to make it winter—at least in part of the city. Here, let me show you.”
He picked up a pint-sized plastic container and popped off the lid. Before she could react, he scooped up her hand and immersed her fingers into the white goo. “Brush it on the trees like this, lightly, so it sort of frosts them but not completely.”
It had been a long time since a man held her hand. The white stuff felt like cottage cheese but drier, the tiny plastic limbs rough but flexible. Under her fingers, Christmas came to Cleveland.
“Do you ever crash them?” Jablonski asked, tapping one engine as it went by.
“Of course not!” its creator snapped. “And don’t touch that!”
“Sorry.”
“I could stand here all day.” Frank’s voice sounded patently unconvincing, but perhaps only to someone who’d known him since her birth.
“But we really do need to learn more about your father’s building.”
“It’s here.” Theresa pointed out the stone structure’s miniature copy. It looked better in the model than in real life—tidy and still alive.
Frank raised an eyebrow to let her know she was being less than helpful. “Can we check for the photographs, please?”
“Certainly. You have to excuse me, I don’t get many opportunities to show it off. My neighbor is a fan, but other than him…”
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