Silent Kills by C.E. Lawrence Read Free Book Online Page B

shaggy again; he made a mental note to have it trimmed.
    Krieger sucked in her cheeks and chewed on the inside of her mouth. On anyone else, it would look odd. On her, it was sexy. Her lips were large and symmetrical and painted red. He tried to think of something to say completely unrelated to sex.
    “Do you know where Chuck is?” he said, sounding like a little boy waiting for teacher to return.
    “I believe he is late from a meeting,” she said, studying her long red nails, which were exactly the same color as her lipstick. He wondered how she found the time to think about matching cosmetics.
    He heard the sound of voices coming from the hall outside—loud, argumentative voices.
    “We just got off a plane, for Christ’s sake!” a man’s voice said. There was an accent—European, he thought, but he wasn’t sure.
    “Please tell us what’s going on,” a woman’s voice pleaded, with an edge of desperation just this side of panic.
    The third voice was familiar. “Now, if you’ll both just calm down a minute, we’ll fill you in on everything, okay?” said Detective Leonard Butts. Lee could tell he was making an effort to be polite, but it was a strain. The detective hated dealing with the families of victims. Nobody enjoyed it, but Butts found it especially onerous.
    The door to the office swung open and the detective stood there flanked by two very sunburned white people. The man was in the prime of vigorous middle age, with salty brown hair, a leathery neck creased from sun exposure, and a long, handsome Gallic face. He was only average height, but projected authority and intelligence—which was helped by the fact that he looked like a cross between François Truffaut and Charles Boyer. The woman was petite, elegant, and very pretty, her blond hair so sun-bleached it was almost white.
    Skulking miserably along behind them, looking as if he longed to disappear, was Francois Nugent.
    “Hello,” Lee said, offering his hand. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Nugent.”
    “The Doctors Nugent, yes,” the man said, gripping Lee’s hand with unnecessary firmness. His skin was the texture of alligator hide.
    “Well, Doctors Nugent,” Butts said, brushing past them into the office, “this here is Doctor Lee Campbell, and—” He stopped, seeing Elena Krieger.
    “Detective Elena Krieger,” she said, extending her hand first to Mrs. Nugent, who shook it, looking at Krieger in some amazement. She towered over the tiny Nugent, but there was no hint of condescension in the detective’s voice. She shook each of their hands in turn; when she got to Francois Nugent, the poor kid couldn’t stop staring at her. He swallowed hard and plopped down in one of the battered captain’s chairs in the corner of the small office.
    “Nice to see you again, Detective Butts,” Krieger said smoothly, shaking his hand too.
    “Likewise, I’m sure,” Butts replied. “When did you come on board?”
    “Just today,” she said. “I got—”
    “I’m sorry, but could you please tell us what’s going on here?” Mrs. Nugent broke in.
    Lee and Butts exchanged glances. Butts’s expression was clear: You go ahead.
    “I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Nugent,” Lee began, “but—”
    “Call me Bridget,” she said, her voice shaking. “We already know that—that something happened to Candace, but—” She faltered and looked to her husband for help.
    “We don’t have any details,” he said. “All we know is that she was—found.”
    Francois shifted in his seat and stared at his shoelaces.
    His mother glared at him. “She died in that—that place you took her to, didn’t she?”
    He continued staring at his shoes.
    “Mrs. Nugent,” Lee said, “her death may have been completely unrelated to the steampunk club she was last seen in.”
    “Anyways, they closed it down today for safety violations,” Butts said.
    “How did she die?” Mrs. Nugent cried, her voice almost a wail. “Was she—was