A Dark and Lonely Place by Edna Buchanan Read Free Book Online Page B

’em, but I do, John. I trust you.”
    He felt a rush when she said that. Had he lost his mind? He’d just met the girl. He had to focus.
    “We have to locate Cheryl,” he said, briskly. “What’s the name of the guy in the Escalade? What did Summer call him?”
    “Manny. Cheryl said that the second man in Eagle’s room that night wore a gun. When I saw Manny wearing a shoulder holster last night, I wished I was packing myself.”
    He lifted his eyebrows.
    “I own guns,” she said with a shrug. “Have a concealed weapons permit. But local law differs everywhere, and it’s too much of a hassle to take a gun on a plane, so I don’t.”
    “You know how to shoot?”
    “Sure. My granddad taught me on an old muzzle-loader.”
    He smiled and checked his watch. “We have to get to work, and I need to find you a safe place to stay.”
    “Why?” she said softly.
    “You’re a witness in two homicides. You could be at risk.”
    “But I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you.”
    “Maybe you don’t know what you know. But somebody might think you do.”
    The mysterious Manny, who claimed to receive a call from the dead, was a mere shadow on the nightclub video. Dark hair and clothes, face turned away. Lucky? Or savvy enough to evade the cameras?
    Cheryl Sutter had flown home to Silver Spring, just outside Washington, D.C. Her cool, seductive, recorded voice answered her phone. John pictured her red hair and attitude as he left a message to call him ASAP.
    He asked Laura to work with a forensic artist to create a sketch of Manny. She was eager to try, but hadn’t eaten all day, so he offered to take her to a Cuban restaurant first.
    They were about to leave when he had a return call from Silver Spring. “Hold on,” he told Laura. “I think it’s Cheryl.”
    It wasn’t.
    “You called Cheryl Sutter?”
    The ring of authority in the man’s voice made John’s heart sink. He sounds like me, he thought, a man who asks a lot of questions and expects answers.
    “That’s right, is she there?”
    “Who are you?” he asked brusquely.
    “Who are you?” John asked back.
    “Sergeant Danny Sandler, Montgomery County Police.”
    “Detective?” John asked.
    “Right.”
    “Homicide?”
    “Right again. You?”
    “Homicide sergeant John Ashley, Miami PD. Tell me she’s alive.”
    “Sorry. Can’t do that.”
    John turned so Laura couldn’t see his face. “What happened?”
    “Tell me why you called her first.”
    “Look, pal,” he kept his voice down, “this is no game. It’s serious goddamn shit. She’s a witness in two Miami homicide cases and I need to talk to her.”
    “Well, it ain’t gonna happen.” His voice rose. “I knew it! You Miami guys piss me off. Why don’tcha keep your mess down there insteada sending your garbage up here. We got enough problems of our own!”
    John saw the forensic artist arrive early, step off the elevator, and hail J. J., who introduced him to Laura. He’d hoped to sit across from her, watch her, and listen to her talk. Instead she and the artist settled down in a cubicle.
    The cop at the other end of the line continued to bellow in his ear. What’s his problem? John wondered. He didn’t like or trust most other cops, particularly his own colleagues. In Miami it was a common sight to see handcuffed police officers and politicians do the perp walk. Corruption was a way of life. The only cop he trusted was himself, along with two of his brothers who also wore badges. All they wanted was what good cops always want and almost never find—true justice.
    “What happened to Cheryl Sutter?” he asked.
    “It’s ugly,” the Montgomery County detective said. “The ugliest I’ve seen and I’ve worked homicide for fifteen years.”
    “You tell me the circumstances and maybe I can tell you if it’s related to our cases.”
    “Wasn’t robbery or burglary, doesn’t appear random, and isn’t your typical sex crime either—though there is nasty sex