Blackman's Coffin by Mark de Castrique Read Free Book Online Page B

He’s with the military police and he’s done more in five minutes than the Asheville police did in five days.”
    My stomach knotted as Nakayla’s temper boiled over. I didn’t relish being on the bad side of some cop.
    “Ask him yourself.” She thrust out her arm, nearly hitting my face with the phone.
    I touched the receiver like it was radioactive. “Sam Blackman.”
    “Since when does the military move in on a case without the courtesy of a call to the officer in charge?” Peters’ words were clipped and curt.
    “I’m not moving in on anybody.”
    “You got that right, buddy boy.”
    He got that wrong. I’m nobody’s buddy boy. Peters was starting to piss me off. “I can’t move in on someone who’s not even there. You’ve left a hole in your investigation a car length wide. If you’re more interested in covering your ass than in finding Tikima’s killer, then fine. I’ll hang up and let my commanding officer call your police chief. But remember, we telephoned you as soon as we found what you missed.”
    Nakayla gave me a thumbs up. I kept the phone to my ear hoping I wouldn’t have to make good on my toothless threat.
    Peters sighed. “Are you at the asylum?”
    I remembered Nakayla’s story about the history of the apartment building. “Yes.”
    “Stay by the car. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
    I looked up at the sprawling complex. There I stood, on the lam from one hospital passing myself off as an investigator in a case I knew nothing about. The asylum. How appropriate. I had to be crazy.

Chapter Five
    “Twenty minutes?” Nakayla took back her cell phone, snapping it shut as an exclamation point to her question. “You and I aren’t standing out in this hot sun for no twenty minutes.”
    “I’ll be all right,” I said.
    “Get in the car,” she ordered. “We’ll wait in Tikima’s apartment. I can see the parking lot from her window and you can read more of the journal.”
    She drove her Hyundai to the front entrance of the old hotel and then stood by the front door while I hobbled up the short flight of stairs. When I reached the landing, she punched a code in the electronic keypad and the door clicked open.
    “Sit down inside. I’ll be back in a moment.”
    I stepped into a shadow created not only by the lack of light but a shadow cast by the past. The lobby of the once grand hotel—hospital—mental institution looked barren and skeletal. The high ceiling and rich wood echoed the grandeur that had greeted the posh patrons of another age. Now scattered pieces of furniture made vain attempts to resemble areas of conversation. The back of the lobby appeared to be the original registration counter but sometime over the years it had been walled in as a separate room. A hallway divided it from a single elevator in the corner. To my right an open arch led into a lounge or reading room. Bookshelves held patches of aging paperbacks in a “take one—leave one” approach to a library.
    A wooden bench to the left of the archway caught my eye. As I took unsteady steps toward it, the elevator opened and a blonde in a turquoise sports bra and black running shorts jogged out. She had the lean body of a runner and must have been jogging in place during the elevator’s descent. With a nod of acknowledgment and a reflexive glance at my wobbling leg, she floated by me on legs that a thoroughbred might envy. Watching her sexy figure disappear into the bright sunlight, I thought how I’d never again be able to run stride for stride with a beautiful gazelle like her. Instead of descending in my own elevator of depression, I laughed out loud. Who was I kidding? I never had nor never would run with a woman like her. Regardless of the changes Iraq had wrought upon my body, the words “eye candy” or “trophy husband” just weren’t part of my résumé.
    The front door opened again and the lithe silhouette reappeared. Maybe I’d sold myself short. Miss Marathon knew a good thing when