Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 19

Cherry flinched. That told me she really was involved in something. So Kuksucker hadn’t been lying about her. Time to go home and spend the night in the cage.

Hopefully no one would get killed tonight, so I could spend tomorrow digging into Krivochlen’s case – maybe finally tracing the origins of this werewolf epidemic and helping Kuksucker find a cure.

The morning started with a dressing-down from Kozloryl… The chief was fuming and spitting insults. Droplets of spit from his bastard mouth splattered onto my new suit – the one Cocksucker had given me.

“Jerry, you’re a real piece of work. A triple homicide at the Marriott – the mayor killed his family and blew his own brains out right in front of you. How could you let that happen?” Kozloryl squealed, yanking the blinds shut.

“Me? What about your Cherry? She’s a detective too! Why aren’t you chewing her out?” I shot back.

“She just started on the force. And you know the situation… She’s Black, and I don’t need trouble with those darkies,” Kozloryl said nastily.

“You old asshole! Listen to me now – I don’t give a damn about your hang-ups. You chew me out one more time, and I’ll plant one right in your face, got it, you little prick? You and your career only went anywhere because of me and my partner – how many times did we cover your sorry ass?” I shouted.

“Now, Jerry, I—” Kozloryl faltered. My outburst hit home.

“Go to hell, mustache-face. You just drenched my jacket in your spit,” I yelled.

“Wait, let me just say—” he stammered.

I didn’t listen. I stormed out and slammed the door hard. Finally, I could say what I really thought. And most importantly, it was the truth. That worthless piece of crap had been belittling my work for years, stealing all the credit for himself. Screw him.

I was pissed – and ready to go all in. I went over to Cherry and told her we needed to talk. She flinched.

“Why so tense today, Cherry, sugar? Come on, tell me what’s up. The chief mentioned some case to me…” I tossed out.

“Oh, right. The case. Looks like we’ve got a serial killer in the city. The press doesn’t know yet – just suspicions – but it’s starting to look that way. Remember the Anna Stern case your favorite Fox handled?”

“A 40-year-old woman raped with a bottle in her own apartment, then strangled with a bathrobe belt. Investigators worked the leads but came up empty,” I recited.

“Today, two weeks later, another woman turned up dead – Linda Brown. Same MO. Rape. Strangled with stockings,” Cherry said.

“And she’s white too?” I asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Cherry clearly didn’t get where I was going.

“Listen up—” I grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her out of my partner’s chair – “I’m getting damn tired of your constant, scared little hints about your skin color. I don’t give a crap until you people start making it the point of every conversation. From now on, when I ask a question, you answer it – directly, without your stupid hints.” I let go, and Cherry plopped back down into the chair, her chin trembling.

“Yes, she’s white,” she nodded, almost in tears.

“So I take it the case is ours?” I asked, softening my tone.

“Yes. We can go right now,” Cherry said.

The victim lived in the southwest outskirts of Boston on Clifford Street. I lived in the same area, so it meant driving back – but with a purpose this time. I flipped on the siren. The house was cordoned off, a few people standing behind the tape. As Cherry and I approached and I flashed my badge, a man in a worn blue sweater, maybe 50, called out: