Last Ditch by G. M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

down into the screen and plucked something from
the
morass. He held it between the thumb and index finger of his right hand
and
blew away the remaining dust.
    "Voila,"
he enthused. "Thirty-caliber."
    "Thirty-two,"
Rebecca said.
    Tommy
shook his
head and curled an eyebrow. "Lunch?"
    "You're
on," she said.
    He
produced a small
glass vial and dropped the slug in with a click. "So much for cause of
death," he said.
    I
demonstrated
my unusually keen perception of the obvious.
    "One
shot
to the back of the head," I said.
    Tommy
nodded.
"You see 'em like this when they lay down on the floor and the perp
puts
the gun right up to the back of the head. It's the pro approach because
it
virtually eliminates blood spatter."
    "An
assassination," I said.
    He
tried to
lighten things up. "Either that or the guy was murdered by a midget"
    My
smile must
have been less than convincing. His eyes got big and he quickly stepped
back
out of arm's reach. Rebecca scowled and wagged a finger at me. After I
nodded
grudgingly, she bent at the waist and put the skull back where she'd
found it
and then straightened up. She looked deep into my eyes, sort of like
when she
wants something she knows I'm not going to want to give.
    "Might
not
be the worst idea in the world to call Jed now," she said. "Just to
be safe."
    I
shook my
head. "Remember ... he took Sarah to Paris
for a second honeymoon," I said.
    "That's
right. Maybe we should call his service to see who's covering for him?"
    "Let's
hang tight and see what happens," I said.
    She
peeled the
gloves from her hands and dropped them on the littered ground. We
started
toward the house together, when Tommy called out to one of the
technicians.
"Miller," he shouted. "Bring that thing over here and give it a
runover before we box it."
    I'd
never seen
this Miller guy before this evening. He was a short little specimen
with a wiry
halo of black hair surrounding an otherwise bald head. His yellow
wind-breaker
rustled as he came trotting past us with a small gray metal detector
thrust out
before him like a lance. Rebecca threw an arm around my waist and spun
me
slowly around.
    We
watched in
silence as he started down by the feet and got an immediate hit. A
couple of
minutes of sifting through the debris yielded six small metal eyelets,
which
Tommy held in his palm.
    "From
his
shoes," he announced with a toothy grin.
    Before
he was through
congratulating himself, the machine emitted another series of
electronic beeps,
louder this time. It only took a second for Miller to reach in and come
up with
a rusted belt buckle, which joined the eyelets in .Tommy's hand. Miller
worked
his way silently up the bones, until, just about level with the top of
the rib
cage, the metal detector went batshit, squealing almost continually,
its little
red and green lights blinking like an accident scene.
    The
noise
brought the medical examiner himself trotting in from the darkness.
When Byrne
arrived, Tommy was bent over the area, running his hands through the
remaining
dust. Suddenly, Tommy stopped rummaging and looked up at his boss. A
puzzled
expression spread over his face as he pulled his hands from the dust
Because
his back partially obscured the object in his hands, my brain discarded
its
first impression of what he was holding. It wasn't until he turned my
way that
I could see I had been right the first time. He had three hands. The
two God
gave him and the one he'd just fished out of my backyard.
    Interestingly
enough, it was the uncommunicative Mr. Byrne who got his wits together
first
and uttered the line which was to become a permanent part of Northwest
folklore.
    "Holy
Christ it's Peerless Price," he whispered.

Chapter 5

    Opinions
differ
Sharply as to both what Peerless Price became and what became of
Peerless
Price. For a public life of nearly three decades to end on such an
uncertain
and tremulous note allowed for a wide range of speculation among those
familiar
with the story, and thus, lacking the comfort of ready