Maps of Hell

Maps of Hell by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: Maps of Hell by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Johnston
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Crime
leading up to it. I was in the middle of a wide meadow. To my right were more trees and I headed for them. When I made the cover, a wave of relief washed over me. The pines weren’t as tall as the previous ones, but they were closer together. I had to push my way past the lower branches but kept going. My throat was parched and my stomach was rumbling, but I didn’t feel tired. I would get farther away from my pursuers and then settle down to eat the bread I’d been given by the doomed man.
    Then I heard a sound that worried me. Despite the state of my memory, I had no difficulty in identifying the howl of a hunting dog. It wasn’t as far off as I’d have liked. Had that been why I’d lost the men behind me? Had they stopped to wait for the hound to join them?
    It looked like it was going to be a long, hard night.

Seven
     
    A fter twenty years in Washington D.C.’s Metropolitan Police, twelve on the homicide team, Detective Gerard Pinker had gotten used to corpses. That didn’t mean he found attending autopsies easy. His partner Clement Simmons never complained. In fact, Pinker reckoned Clem even breathed through his nostrils during the procedures—too dedicated for his own good.
    “I suppose you’ll be looking forward to this,” Pinker said in the elevator on the way down to the morgue. He straightened his tie and shot his cuffs. “What with being into voodoo and all that shit.”
    The tall, heavily built black man beside him shook his head slowly. “I’m not into voodoo.” He ran an eye over his partner’s diminutive figure. “At least not in the way you’re into rich men’s suits, Versace.”
    Pinker grinned and slotted a piece of gum between his thin lips. “Right, Clem. So I was just imagining the goat’s head and the little dolls you got in your den.”
    “Not the doll with your name on it,” Simmons said as the doors opened. “Shit, man, you know my grandmother was from Haiti. I’m interested in my family’s culture, that’s all.”
    Pinker stepped into the morgue and was immediately swamped by the smell of chemicals cut with flesh and blood. “Well, I’m glad my family hasn’t got that kind of culture.”
    The big man followed him down the corridor. “Your family hasn’t got any culture, man. You’re nothing but West Virginia white trash.”
    Pinker met the grin with a raised middle finger. They went through the swing doors and found the medical examiner looking at a clipboard. She was above medium height and he liked the way she was built—slim, but stacked in the right places.
    “Gentlemen,” she said, raising her eyes briefly.
    The detectives’ demeanor was suddenly much more formal.
    “Dr. Gilbert,” Simmons said, shooting Pinker a warning glance. His partner had come on like too much of a pussy hound the last time they’d encountered the striking red-haired woman. Not that she couldn’t look after herself, as she’d proved by dropping a scalpel less than an inch from Versace’s new oxblood wing tips.
    “Morning, Doctor,” Pinker said. “I’m betting you never had one done through the ears before.”
    The medical examiner finished what she was doing and looked at him, her blue eyes icier than a mountain lake. “You lose, Detective. I had a drug dealer three months ago, shot with a .45 bullet through the external acoustic meatus, destroying the tympanic membrane, as well as the malleus, incus and stapes.” She smiled briefly. “The brain was pretty messed up, too.” She inclined her head toward the autopsy room. “Shall we?” She stepped away, her head held high.
    “What, dance?” Pinker said under his breath. “Yeah, baby, yeah.”
    As the detectives approached the table, a technician moved back and they got a full view of the body. The man’s naked form—overweight and heavily tattooed—was striking, as were the skewers protruding from his ears. His waist-length hair was hanging over the end of the table like a black flag. His long beard had been parted

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