Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 17

Cherry and I got into my truck.

“You said your car was filthy and the engine ran rough. Sounds like it’s purring now,” Cherry noted.

“Cherry, is this an interrogation? I washed it, fixed the engine. The pulleys were squealing – five-minute swap. Did it myself in the garage,” I said casually. “Now tell me what happened – I didn’t watch the news, didn’t listen to the radio…”

“Alright, here’s the short version. The mayor’s daughter was murdered—”

“Murdered? No kidding! Had no idea,” I cut her off.

“—stab wound to the neck,” Cherry went on unfazed, “bled out. She was five. That evening the family went to bed – the mayor, his wife, the daughter, and their ten-year-old son. Around midnight, the wife woke up to get some water. She checked on her daughter and found her already dead. No cameras inside the house.”

“And outside?” I asked.

“There are some, but nothing suspicious showed up – no strange cars or people. None of the cameras point directly at the house. So it’s unclear if anyone came in. The whole family’s been evacuated except for the mayor. Forensics have been dusting for prints and collecting evidence all night.”

“Find anything?” My curiosity was piqued.

“Nothing. As if the killer never entered the house,” Cherry said meaningfully, staring at the side of my face. It was getting annoying.

“They swab the hands of the son, wife, and mayor? Oh wait – Fox was in charge. Of course they didn’t,” I said. “And stop staring at me before you burn a hole in my cheek.”

When we pulled up, Fox was on the porch chatting with the mayor.

“Well, well, well,” Fox squeaked – a scrawny man in his forties – “look who it is! How’s that investigation into your partner’s murder going?”

“No idea, Fox. As you know, the FBI’s running that one – call them and ask. This case is mine. Now get the hell out of here,” I growled through my teeth.

“Try sleeping less, hero,” he shot back. He liked to trade barbs.

The mayor stepped in. He was about forty-five, tall, lean – and obviously devastated. He looked at our squabble with disgust.

“Detective Jerry, I want you to find the killer,” the mayor said crisply.

“Of course, Mr. Mayor. But let’s speak privately.”

I took him aside.

“I’ll check the scene and talk to forensics. But let’s be honest – there was no break-in. Which means the killer was one of your family,” I said as gently as I could.

“That’s impossible! We loved her! And our son slept with us that night. My wife says he’s been nervous lately – maybe he sensed something,” the mayor protested.

“Alright. I’ll need to interview all three of you – you, your wife, and your son. I’ll visit you in a couple hours.”

“We’ll be at the Marriott,” the mayor said.

“The one on the waterfront near State Street?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Think hard about every detail of that night and the days leading up to it. And whether you have any enemies who might want revenge.”

“Enemies? Come on! I won the election fair and square!”

“I didn’t vote for you. I don’t vote for Democrats,” I said on my way out.

Inside, the head forensic tech, old grumbler Herner, was packing up with two assistants.

“Got the prints?” I asked.

“Yeah, all done. No sign of forced entry.”

“Could they have come in through a window?”

“One on the second floor was open. The rest were latched. You can’t open those from the outside.”