Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 12
“So, what did that fed sniff out? Are we in trouble?” the boss started without a greeting.
“Everything’s fine. The trouble’s not going to be here in the precinct. We’ve got nothing to do with it. I sold him on the idea that I needed information from Crookeddick on the Cupcake case. I told him Crookeddick was involved in the murder, so I sent an agent to him.”
“But how could Crookeddick have killed him if he’s in prison?” Goatface asked, baffled.
“That FBI guy didn’t go into details. I just sold him the version,” I chuckled, trying to sound convincing, though it came out forced.
“I didn’t understand a damn thing,” Goatface sighed. “Well, to hell with it. Shoot yourselves up with whatever you want, you devils… You won’t bend David Scott!’’ Goatface did his victory dance, shuffling his right foot behind his left and back again.
“Can I go now?” I was already bored.
“Go, go. And let the feds handle your partner’s case. Last time I’m telling you this! You’ve already caused enough trouble! By the way, it’s been two months since Hank Sullivan’s death. Time to pull yourself together. Now you’re working with Cherry Legspiss. Go meet her. And… no jokes about Black people.”
I went back to my desk and plopped into my chair. At a desk forming an “L” shape next to mine sat a short Black girl of about 25. She was clearly a rookie detective and shy. Her smooth, wrinkle-free face was pleasant, and she smelled of berry jam and chocolate. A yogurt sat on her desk.
“Hi. We’ll be working together. The boss told me I’d be working with Cherry. But here I see Blurry…” I laughed. I don’t know if Cherry took my words as flirting, but I was trying to make a good impression.
Cherry blushed. Another five seconds and she’d have started crying. So I defused it:
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I was joking. Cherry lives matter. And I’m not racist, so we’ll work well together. Besides, you’re not ugly.” In short, I’d just said enough to get fired without severance pay.
Under other circumstances, I’d never have said that, but right now the FBI had my back, so I could afford it. Plus, I needed to establish who was in charge here right from the start—take the bull by the horns, so to speak.
While I was musing, Goatface burst in looking rattled.
“We’ve got an emergency. Triple murder in Boston. Here’s the address—get over there and handle it.”
The paper read: Malibu Beach.
“Well, Cherry, let’s ride! We’ll take your car. Mine’s all squeaky and muddy,” I said, standing and offering my hand. She didn’t take it, just stood up silently, grabbing her yogurt.
“Sugar’s bad for you. So’s salt,” I said as I headed for the exit.
We flipped on the siren and, despite the traffic, made it to the beach quickly. Police cars were already there. Onlookers stood at a distance, filming with their phones.
At the beach entrance stood a uniformed officer. I flashed my badge and asked,
“What happened here, officer?”
“Young people killed. A guy and two girls, about nineteen. Knife wounds,” the officer reported flatly.
“I hope no one’s touched anything. Keep everyone out. The forensics team and photographer will be here soon,” I said, heading toward the crime scene, gesturing for my partner to follow.
The sight before us was grim. On the sand lay a guy in swim trunks and two girls in bikinis. Each had multiple stab wounds to the neck and chest. The sand around them was crimson. The bodies lay close together, just a couple of meters apart, in unnatural positions. Nearby was a neatly folded pile of clothes.