Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 18
“But could they have used the open one?”
“Unlikely. It’s pristine – I dusted it, checked the ledge. No footprints, no marks. Even in sterile gear, someone would’ve left something. There’s nothing.”
“Alright, I’ll check it myself. Found the weapon?”
“Nope.”
“You swab the son’s hands?”
“No. By the time I got here, the mother had already taken him away. Damn Fox…”
I tuned out his complaints and went upstairs. Cherry followed, eyeing the blood-soaked bed and carpet.
“I think this was revenge,” she said.
“Why?”
“Not a random killer. A pro.”
“Or the boy?”
“Highly unlikely. They said he slept with them – if he’d done it, he’d be covered in blood. And the mother found the girl first…”
“Uh-huh. And if you had to hide a knife, where would you put it?”
“Couch… I don’t know.”
“Lousy detective. They’d have found it there. Go to the kitchen – see if all the knives are there.”
While she was gone, I examined the room. Blood everywhere – even on the ceiling. On the long-pile carpet, a brownish stain – likely from the mayor trying CPR. The open window showed no prints or ledge marks, but I noticed the grass below was slightly flattened. You’d need a detective’s eye to catch it.
“Well?” I asked when Cherry returned.
“One’s missing – the ice-pick knife,” she said quietly.
Before leaving, I told Herner to bag the grass samples.
At the Marriott, I asked the mayor to gather the whole family. The wife resisted, saying the boy was in shock. The mayor overruled her.
She brought in a sullen Black boy. Not what I was expecting.
“My wife’s son from her first marriage,” the mayor explained.
“Right. And you say he slept with you that night, ma’am?”
“Yes… When I got up for water and checked on her, she was dying… I called my husband…”
“And you, sir – how were you woken?”
“My wife. Her face was covered in blood. She said someone killed our little girl…”
“And where was the boy then? Still in bed?”
“I don’t know… I ran straight to my daughter’s room…”
“Why all these questions?” the wife snapped – clearly hiding something.
I stood. “Last question, ma’am. Where’s your ice-pick knife? Let’s check your purse.”
“Nooo!” she screamed, falling to her knees before her husband. “Forgive me… it wasn’t on purpose…”
The pale mayor drew a revolver.
“Don’t—” I started, but it was too late.
He shot his wife in the head, then fired three rounds into the boy’s neck, then one into his own jaw.
On the way back, Cherry asked, “Why kill the boy? Black lives matter.”
“Not his son. The Black brat was jealous. The mayor was always at work, so the mother started bringing the boy into her bed. That night, he got up and drove the ice-pick into his sister’s neck. The mother found her still breathing, pulled the knife out – and that’s when the blood poured. The boy stayed clean. Instead of saving her daughter, she saved him – tossing the knife out the open window, later retrieving it and hiding it in her purse. Even without the weapon, I’d have broken them in ten minutes.”
“Poor mayor,” Cherry sighed.
“That bastard? He might’ve been a doctor and a good shot, but he was no leader. Maybe now we’ll get a real Republican in office. Now get out of my truck – grab a cab and report to the chief. I’m not driving you.”
“And you?”
“You don’t want to see me tonight – I’ll be in a bad mood. Might bite someone…”