A Kiss Gone Bad by Jeff Abbott Read Free Book Online Page A

Saturday.
    They could have a deliciously lost weekend together: movies if she were good, dinner, death. Then back to work on Monday.
    The Blade began the somewhat arduous process of hatching a plan. What had he overheard Velvet call such contingencies in the
     grocery store? He remembered and smiled: Plan B.

8
    The interview room at the Port Leo Police Department resembled a supply closet more than an interrogation facility. In one
     corner tottered a stack of old computer monitors. The department had upgraded their seven-year-old systems recently and no
     one wanted the old standbys. A box of shredded documents, ready to be recycled, was shoved against the wall. Two plastic containers
     of office supplies filled another corner. An old wooden table occupied the center of the room, marred with circles from water
     cups and soda cans.
    Heather Farrell, the young woman who’d found Pete’s body, watched Claudia Salazar with mulish eyes. Police Chief Delford Spires
     sat next to Heather, quiet, letting Claudia take the lead in getting the statement. Claudia noticed, with affection, that
     there was a crumb of cake caught in his mustache, but she didn’t want to point that out with the tape rolling. He had just
     returned from telling the senator her son was dead. She turned to the witness.
    ‘Okay, Heather, this won’t take long,’ Claudia said. ‘For the record, do you have some identification?’
    Heather Farrell dug in her dirty jeans and produced a tattered driver’s license, one that had expired. The birth date indicated
     that she was two weeks past eighteen. The address on the card indicated she was from Lubbock, in west Texas, far more than
     spitting distance from Port Leo. Claudia read the information off the driver’s license into the tape, then handed the laminated
     card back to Heather, who proceeded to tidy her nails with the edge of the plastic.
    ‘Your family still in Lubbock, Heather?’ Claudia asked.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Why did you leave Lubbock?’
    ‘Dirt sucks,’ Heather said.
    ‘That’s a good reason,’ Claudia said pleasantly. ‘Any others?’
    ‘I’m an artist. Lots of artists here.’ Heather shrugged. ‘I thought for sure those galleries would want to give me a big-ass
     fancy show. Strange it hasn’t happened yet.’
    ‘You haven’t updated your driver’s license,’ Spires said.
    ‘Don’t drive much these days.’ Heather gave Delford a caustic look. ‘Gunk’s in your mustache, mister.’
    Delford groomed out the offending morsel. ‘Thank you, Heather.’
    ‘Where are you living now, Heather?’ Claudia asked.
    The girl shrugged with a lazy roll of shoulders. A willfulness – either born of stupidity or of hard use – tugged her face
     into a constant, wary frown.
    ‘Here and there. I camp out at the park down by Little Mischief Beach sometimes.’
    ‘Do you have a permit to camp?’ Claudia already suspected the answer.
    Heather shifted in her seat. ‘Darn, I lost it yesterday. I haven’t found a friendly ranger to give me a new one.’
    Claudia nodded toward the backpack in the corner. ‘Those pretty much all your belongings?’
    ‘Yep. Travel light. I don’t believe in U-Hauls.’
    ‘So you brought everything you had in the world along with you to meet this guy on the boat.’
    ‘I guess,’ Heather said with no energy in her voice.
    ‘You moving in with him?’
    ‘No. I just don’t like leaving my stuff lying around.’
    ‘Did he tell you his name?’
    ‘Yeah. Pete Majors.’ Heather took a swig of the tepidcocoa Officer Fox had fetched for her. ‘He said he was from Los Angeles.’
    Majors, not Hubble. Big Pete Majors was his
nom de cinema,
gleaned from the videotapes on the boat. Claudia saw a thin sheen of sweat on Delford’s brow, despite the cool of the room.
    ‘Did Mr Majors tell you why he was in Port Leo?’ Claudia asked.
    ‘He was writing a movie about his brother’s death. But he was awful depressed about it. I think that’s why he killed