Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10 by Laurell K. Hamilton Read Free Book Online

were crossed over his chest, and he was trying to be unobtrusive, but when you’re six foot eight and built like a pro wrestler, that’s hard. He hadn’t said a word during the interview. (Just here to observe.)
    Catherine sat beside me. She’d thrown a black blazer over the green dress, brought her briefcase, and sat wearing her lawyer face.
    Detective Branswell sat across from us. He was in his mid-thirties, black hair, dark complected, with eyes as black as his hair. His name was English, but he looked Mediterranean, like he’d just stepped off the olive boat. His accent was pure middle Missouri.
    “Now, Ms. Blake, go over it just one more time for me. Please.” He poised his pen over his notebook as if he’d write it all down again.
    “We’d helped my neighbor carry up her new television.”
    “Mrs. Edith Pringle, yeah, she confirms all that. But why did you go to your apartment?”
    “I was going to get a screwdriver to help install the television.”
    “You keep a lot of tools, Ms. Blake?” He wrote something on his notepad. I was betting it was a doodle.
    “No, detective, but I’ve got a screwdriver.”
    “Did Mrs. Pringle ask you to go get this screwdriver?”
    “No, but she’d used it when she bought her stereo system.” Which was true. I was trying to keep the lies to an absolute minimum.
    “So you assumed she’d need it.”
    “Yes.”
    “Then what?” He asked like he’d never heard the answer before. His black eyes were intense and empty, unreadable and eager at the same time. We were coming to the part that he didn’t quite buy.
    “I unlocked my door and dropped my keys. I squatted down to pick them up and the first shotgun blast roared over my head. I returned fire.”
    “How? The door was closed.”
    “I shot through the hole in the door that the shotgun had made.”
    “You shot a man through a hole in your door and hit him.”
    “It was a big hole, detective, and I wasn’t sure I hit him.”
    “Why didn’t the second shotgun blast take you out, Ms. Blake? There wasn’t enough left of the door to hide behind. Where were you, Ms. Blake?”
    “I told you, the blast rocked the door inward. I hit the floor, on my side. The second blast went over me.”
    “And you shot the man twice more in the chest,” Detective Branswell said.
    “Yes.”
    He looked at me for a long moment, studying my face. I met his eyes without flinching. It wasn’t that hard. I was numb, empty, and distant. There was still a fine ringing in my ears from being so damn close to two shotgun blasts. The ringing would fade. It usually did.
    “You know the man you killed?”
    Catherine touched my arm. “Detective Branswell, my client has been more than helpful. She’s told you several times that she did not recognize the deceased.”
    He flipped back through his notebook. “You’re right, counselor. Ms. Blake has been helpful. The dead man was James Dugan, Jimmy the Shotgun. He’s got a record longer than you are tall, Ms. Blake. He’s local muscle. Someone you call whenyou want it cheap and quick and don’t care how messy it is.” He stared at me while he talked, studying my eyes.
    I blinked at him.
    “Do you know anyone who would want you dead, Ms. Blake?”
    “Not right offhand,” I said.
    He closed his notebook and stood. “I’m going to recommend justifiable homicide to the DA. I doubt you’ll see the inside of a courtroom.”
    “When do I get my gun back?” I asked.
    Branswell stared at me. “When ballistics is done with it, Ms. Blake. And I’d be damn grateful that you’re getting it back at all.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard stories about you from some of the cops who answered the last call from your apartment. The one with the two killer zombies.” He shook his head again. “Don’t take this wrong, Ms. Blake, but have you considered moving to a new jurisdiction?”
    “My landlord is probably going to suggest the same thing,” I said.
    “I’ll just bet he is,”