Sacred and Profane by Faye Kellerman Read Free Book Online

P-a-y-n-e.
    “So if you could just sent the X rays you do have of Kristy Walkins to Dr. Anne Hennon—”
    “Detective, I’m really rather choosy about to whom I send my records; they aren’t junk mail to be tossed around randomly. And with the recent proliferation of lawsuits…”
    “I realize that, Doctor, but we’re talking about a homicide investigation.”
    “If I knew for certain that the victim found was indeed Miss Walkins and the X rays would serve as absolute proof of identification, I’d feel much better about sending them to you.”
    If we knew that, we wouldn’t need X rays, schmuck!
    “Dr. Payne, I could get a subpoena and then we wouldn’t have to bother with this polite conversation. Now, I’m asking you to send the X rays on your terms. If you keep giving me a hard time, I’m going to take them on my terms. The choice is yours.”
    There was a long pause full of heavy breathing.
    “I could round up some duplicates,” Payne said, “but I guarantee you the clarity of the radiographs will leave much to be desired.”
    “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Doctor. Thank you.”
    Decker gave him Hennon’s address, thanked him again, gave the phone the finger, and pressed Rina’s line.
    “What’s up?” he asked.
    “Nothing really. Just called to say hi.”
    He smiled. “I’m glad you did.”
    “I…I guess you’re busy, huh?”
    “Not too busy for you.”
    “That’s nice of you to say.”
    There was a long awkward pause. This is leading somewhere, he thought.
    “What’s on your mind, Rina?”
    “Why do you think something’s on my mind?”
    “I’m just asking.”
    She coughed over the phone, then cleared her throat. “I bought a gun, Peter.”
    Shit!
    “You what?” he said softly.
    “I bought a gun. A .38 caliber Colt six-shot Detective Special. Same one you use off duty. It’s being registered now. Can you get me a conceal permit?”
    “No. And you shouldn’t be fooling around with a gun unless you know how to use one.”
    “I agree. That’s why I’ve signed up for private lessons. At Berry’s Guns and Ammo. The teacher’s name is Tom Railsback. He said he knows you.”
    “I know Tom,” said Decker quietly. “He’s a good guy. Rina, why the hell are you doing this?”
    “Because I’m a nervous wreck. Because I constantly hear noises at night. Because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in the six months since the violence here, and I don’t want to be addicted to Valium.”
    “Honey, these things take time to get over. He can’t hurt you now. He’s locked up.”
    “Intellectually, I know you’re right. But I can’t help myself. I need something more. I need to know I can take care of myself.”
    “And you think a gun will take care of you?”
    “Are you being sarcastic?” she asked innocently.
    Decker paused, then said, “Sort of.”
    “Please don’t be. I’m not careless, Peter. I’m not impulsive. I’ve thought about it a long time. I really think it’s what I need.”
    “Then why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
    “Peter, I broached the subject with you a dozen times and you kept putting me off.”
    Decker pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He had put her off. He was worried about her keeping firearms with small children around the house. He was worried it would misfire and she’d get hurt. Or maybe it was just a macho thing, feeling she should have trusted him to take care of her. Jan had never wanted a gun: she’d hated guns. But Jan had grown up in the sixties; Rina was from a different generation. Peace, love, and Woodstock had been replaced by terrorism and Rambo.
    “If you’re serious and you learn how to shoot properly,I’ll see what I can do about getting you a permit.”
    “Thanks.”
    “But that’s going to take months, Rina.”
    “That’s okay.”
    “That means you can’t hide the gun in your purse in the meantime.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Or under a car seat—”
    “The gun will be kept at home.