Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I’m on my way back.”
“How did the meeting with the good detective go?”
I suppress a smile. I enjoyed the encounter more than I thought I would. The sneak approach, the disappearing act at the end. I have a touch of theater kid in me. “It went well.”
Hamish says nothing for a moment. I’ve learned to parse his pauses like a language of their own. Sometimes, they’re disapproving, and sometimes they’re thoughtful. This time, I think it’s the latter. “Do you think it’s wise to involve him?”
I picture Bonds’ weathered face, lit by the glow of his cigarette. “He’s involved in the case. We need a way to loop him in.” I know what Hamish is really asking. Do I trust Bonds? “I trust him to do his job. We need all the help we can get.”
Hamish doesn’t argue. He knows as well as I do that the killer’s still out there, and he won’t stop until he has Inara.
Inara
* * *
Monday, I drag myself to the police station. Rex told me that Bonds has already been brought up to speed on the whole Ted debacle, so I don’t have to explain.
Bonds takes one look at me and sends me to my desk to follow up on random leads called into the department. He doesn’t say that I look like crap. He doesn’t have to.
I do my penance, reviewing the leads and returning calls to get the statements. Most of the “tips” are crank calls or useless leads from retirees who just want to report suspicious activity in their neighborhoods. By mid-afternoon, I’m finished, and my brain is soup. I could return to Bonds to get more work, but I know when I’m being banished.
I’m picking at my lunch when my phone rings.
Burgess, the screen reads, and I recoil. I saved my partner’s phone number when we were assigned to each other, but I don’t think he’s ever called. He’s been avoiding me, which suits me just fine. Technically, we’re still partners, but we’ve come to a silent agreement that we both work better alone. If what Burgess does can be called work.
I take a deep breath and answer. “Ramos.”
“Hey.” It’s Burgess. “I heard you found Ted.”
“Yeah. Dead end.”
“You busy?”
I don’t bother lying. “No, what’s up?”
“Got a call out. Someone called the station saying they found a dead body with a bird on display. I’m heading to the scene now if you want to come.”
I rise from my chair, ready to leave, but darkness passes over my vision, leaving me dizzy. Something is coming. Another body, another clue, maybe even a break in the case. I need to be ready.
When the shadows clear, Burgess is still talking. “Ramos? You there?”
“Yeah, on my way. Where should we meet?”
“I’ll pick you up.” He names an intersection that’s a few blocks away from the precinct. “Save me a wait in traffic.”
I grab my coat but don’t do anything to alert my bodyguards. They’ve been lying low, but the department won’t look too kindly on me taking them to a crime scene. I want to text Rex, but what would I even say? ‘Hey, I have a feeling something big is about to happen. I actually have these feelings all the time, but I’ve been too afraid to tell you about them.’
No, I’m not going to share all that. But I do text Ivan that I’m headed out on police business and will be back by end of day.
Forty minutes later, I’m in the passenger seat of the department car Burgess got from the lot. There’s a tension radiating from him, as if he’s uncomfortable just being in my presence. He’s barely looked at me, and I’ve kept quiet because I want as little to do with him as possible.
We pull into a deserted alley, and Burgess kills the engine.
“This it?” We’re in the warehouse district. The alley is full of trash, but there’s no sign of another cop car. “Where is everyone?”
“We’re first on the scene.” There’s a distant wail of sirens, but they seem to be receding.
Something isn’t right.
“Body was found in that building.” Burgess points to the warehouse. He exits the car and I follow more slowly.
“Who called in the tip?” I ask.
“Anonymous call to the desk sergeant. He passed it to us.”
Strange that the desk sergeant would call Burgess when I’ve been sitting in the bullpen all day. Maybe he wanted to light a fire under Burgess’ ass, but it’s weird he wouldn’t at least give me a head’s up in person.
Burgess looks up and down the alley, muttering. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Same.” But I’m here, and I might as well do my job. I search for an entrance to the warehouse. Finally, in between two stinking dumpsters, there’s a solid metal door left cracked open.
“In here?” I ask but don’t wait for an answer. I lean into the door, pushing it open. It yields with a ghastly creak, revealing a carpet of dead birds. There are too many here for it to be a coincidence.