Read Online US Marshall 01 - Cold Ridge by Carla Neggers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carla Neggers
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intrusive to ask outright if she could see the library, even if it was the reason she was here. "That's probably a good idea. I thought-look at me. I brought my digital camera. I don't know what I was thinking."
"It's all right. We're all struggling today. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here myself. You're a photographer. Having your camera must help you feel like it's a normal day."
"Louis-his family-"
"Everything's being handled, Carine."
She suddenly felt nosy, as if she'd overstepped her bounds. "Have you talked to Manny Carrera? Do you know where he is?"
"Carine-perhaps it's best if you go home." Sterling 's voice was gentle, concerned, but there was no mistaking that he wanted to be rid of her. "The police know how to get in touch with you if they want to speak with you again, don't they?"
"Of course-"
Gary Turner, Sterling 's security chief, appeared in the doorway next to his boss. He nodded at her. "Good morning, Carine," he said politely. "It's nice to see you, as always. The two lead detectives will be back later this morning. I'll tell them you stopped by."
Dismissed, Carine thought, but without rancor. Sterling was just as on edge as she was, neither of them accustomed to dealing with this sort of emergency. But Gary Turner radiated calm and competence, a steady efficiency, that she found reassuring. He was a strange guy. The Rancourts hired him in the spring, and she'd met him in Cold Ridge a few times before she went to work for them herself. She didn't understand exactly what he did, or what Manny Carrera was supposed to be doing, for that matter.
She was aware of Turner studying her, an unsettling experience, not just because he was so focused-he looked as if he'd lived most of his life underwater, or maybe in an attic. He had close-cropped, very thin white hair. He might have been in his eighties instead of, at most, his forties. His skin was an odd-looking pinkish-white, its paleness exaggerated by his habitual all-black attire. He had no eyebrows to speak of, and his eyes were a watery, almost colorless gray. He was missing his middle and ring fingers on his left hand. Carine knew he carried a concealed nine-millimeter pistol and assumed he could fire it, but she'd never asked.
"How are you doing?" Turner asked softly. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you yesterday."
"You were busy, and I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking. Look, I'm sure you both have a lot to do. I won't keep you-"
Turner stepped out onto the stoop with her. "You've experienced a trauma. Finding Louis yesterday was a physical and mental shock, a blow on multiple levels to your well-being. Perhaps you'd like for me to arrange for you to talk to someone?"
She shook her head politely. "There's no need to go to any trouble. I can always ask my sister for a recommendation, if it comes to it."
"Give yourself some time. It'll be hard for a while, but if after a few weeks you experience flashbacks, nightmares, sleeplessness, feelings of panic or emotional numbness-then don't wait, okay? Go see someone."
"I will. Manny Carrera-I'm worried about him-"
"That's understandable," Turner said mildly, then glanced back at Rancourt, who seemed paralyzed in the doorway. "I'll walk with Carine a minute."
"Of course. I'll see you back here later." Rancourt rallied, taking a breath. "Carine? If there's anything Jodie and I can do, please don't hesitate to let us know. I mean that. I'm so very sorry it had to be you yesterday."
"Thanks," she said. "I'm just sorry about Louis."
"The media-" Sterling paused and leaned forward to glance down the street, as if he expected someone to pop up out of nowhere. "I'd like you not to speak to any reporters. It's quiet at the moment, but they'll be back. Be polite, but be firm."
"Not a problem. The last thing I want to do is talk to a reporter."
He withdrew without further comment, the heavy door shutting with a loud thud behind him.
Gary Turner walked down to the sidewalk without a word,
"It's all right. We're all struggling today. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here myself. You're a photographer. Having your camera must help you feel like it's a normal day."
"Louis-his family-"
"Everything's being handled, Carine."
She suddenly felt nosy, as if she'd overstepped her bounds. "Have you talked to Manny Carrera? Do you know where he is?"
"Carine-perhaps it's best if you go home." Sterling 's voice was gentle, concerned, but there was no mistaking that he wanted to be rid of her. "The police know how to get in touch with you if they want to speak with you again, don't they?"
"Of course-"
Gary Turner, Sterling 's security chief, appeared in the doorway next to his boss. He nodded at her. "Good morning, Carine," he said politely. "It's nice to see you, as always. The two lead detectives will be back later this morning. I'll tell them you stopped by."
Dismissed, Carine thought, but without rancor. Sterling was just as on edge as she was, neither of them accustomed to dealing with this sort of emergency. But Gary Turner radiated calm and competence, a steady efficiency, that she found reassuring. He was a strange guy. The Rancourts hired him in the spring, and she'd met him in Cold Ridge a few times before she went to work for them herself. She didn't understand exactly what he did, or what Manny Carrera was supposed to be doing, for that matter.
She was aware of Turner studying her, an unsettling experience, not just because he was so focused-he looked as if he'd lived most of his life underwater, or maybe in an attic. He had close-cropped, very thin white hair. He might have been in his eighties instead of, at most, his forties. His skin was an odd-looking pinkish-white, its paleness exaggerated by his habitual all-black attire. He had no eyebrows to speak of, and his eyes were a watery, almost colorless gray. He was missing his middle and ring fingers on his left hand. Carine knew he carried a concealed nine-millimeter pistol and assumed he could fire it, but she'd never asked.
"How are you doing?" Turner asked softly. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you yesterday."
"You were busy, and I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking. Look, I'm sure you both have a lot to do. I won't keep you-"
Turner stepped out onto the stoop with her. "You've experienced a trauma. Finding Louis yesterday was a physical and mental shock, a blow on multiple levels to your well-being. Perhaps you'd like for me to arrange for you to talk to someone?"
She shook her head politely. "There's no need to go to any trouble. I can always ask my sister for a recommendation, if it comes to it."
"Give yourself some time. It'll be hard for a while, but if after a few weeks you experience flashbacks, nightmares, sleeplessness, feelings of panic or emotional numbness-then don't wait, okay? Go see someone."
"I will. Manny Carrera-I'm worried about him-"
"That's understandable," Turner said mildly, then glanced back at Rancourt, who seemed paralyzed in the doorway. "I'll walk with Carine a minute."
"Of course. I'll see you back here later." Rancourt rallied, taking a breath. "Carine? If there's anything Jodie and I can do, please don't hesitate to let us know. I mean that. I'm so very sorry it had to be you yesterday."
"Thanks," she said. "I'm just sorry about Louis."
"The media-" Sterling paused and leaned forward to glance down the street, as if he expected someone to pop up out of nowhere. "I'd like you not to speak to any reporters. It's quiet at the moment, but they'll be back. Be polite, but be firm."
"Not a problem. The last thing I want to do is talk to a reporter."
He withdrew without further comment, the heavy door shutting with a loud thud behind him.
Gary Turner walked down to the sidewalk without a word,
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