First Time Killer by Alan Orloff, Zak Allen Read Free Book Online Page A

afternoon drive. Seemed like a nice kid, though.”
    “Anything you can tell me about Danzler? He rub anybody wrong? Into drugs? Gangs? Womanizing?”
    Rick shook his head. “Not that I saw. Like I said, he seemed like a nice kid.”
    “Even nice guys have enemies, Rick.” Adams gently tapped the pen against his pad.
    “J.T. would know more about him. He handles the interns,” Rick said.
    “Okay, I’ll be sure to ask him.” Adams scribbled something in his pad. “Now that you’ve had a few days to mull things over, do you have any further insights you’d like to share?”
    “Nope. Wish I did, but I don’t. Sicko. Nutcase. What other explanation could there be?”
    “Let’s see. The victim worked here. The killer called here. Don’t you find that an odd coincidence?” Adams asked.
    “He probably found out Danzler worked at the station and called in, for kicks.” Rick tried to sort things out, but he couldn’t get past the picture of a smiling Danzler in his head.
    “Either that, or Danzler was killed because he worked here.” Adams glanced at his pad, then looked at Rick. “Hopefully, we’ll figure it out and catch this guy soon.” He crossed his long legs, settled in. “What’s your take on the arm?”
    “My take?”
    “Yeah, why do you think the killer cut off Danzler’s arm and stuffed it into a trashcan? What about the rest of the body?”
    “I have no idea. I don’t think like a psycho.” Rick’s voice got louder.
    Adams held up a hand. “No need to get insulted, I was just asking. You’ll be glad to know the amputation was post-mortem. He did a pretty tidy job of it.”
    Rick hadn’t even considered the killer might have cut off the arm while the victim was still alive. A shudder reached his toes. “Good. I guess.”
    “Excuse me.” Adams plucked a tissue from the box on Rick’s desk and blew his nose. He wadded it up and flipped it into the trash. “Hey, did you go down to the park after the arm was discovered? Hang out there for a while?”
    Rick hoped his surprise wasn’t evident. “As a matter of fact, I did. How’d you know?”
    “ESP, of course.”
    Rick waited for Adams to continue.
    Adams laughed, a mellifluous sound that seemed out of place in a conversation about a crazy killer, like a harp at a cockfight. “Actually, we found out the old-fashioned way. We staked out the site of the trashcan. Had one of my guys taking photos from a bench across the road.” Adams began tapping his pen softly on the heel of his shoe. “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why did you go down there? I mean, hell, the trashcan wasn’t even there any more.”
    Rick swallowed, not sure why he felt guilty. After First Time’s call, he thought maybe he’d pick up some vibes first-hand, get a glimpse into the killer’s dark mind. “First of all, I didn’t know you guys had taken the trashcan. I just wanted to see it. See where some monster discarded a piece of a human being. Treated it like trash.” He swallowed again. “Curiosity is all, Detective.”
    “It’s a curious thing, for sure,” Adams said. “And curiosity must be contagious, too. Because we photographed a ton of curious people sniffing around the site. Senior citizens, nannies with kids in strollers, construction workers on lunch break. Dozens of people approached the taped-off area. Most looked around, probably wondering what happened to the actual trashcan. Some strode toward the scene with purpose. Others came up to it tentatively, like there was a bomb nearby about to explode. People are funny, you know?” Adams stopped, peered at Rick. Waiting for some comment.
    Rick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
    “And you know who are some of the funniest people around?” The light glinted in Adams’s eyes.
    “Who?”
    “Radio people.” Adams nodded twice, small nods, almost to himself, as if he’d solved a great mystery. “Besides you, we photographed some of your station’s sales reps, deejays, engineers, what seemed