Strip Search by William Bernhardt Read Free Book Online

me, and I don’t want you parading around with your smart mouth and superior attitude and undermining my authority. It’s my case. You work for me. Understood?”
    “Loud and clear. Now let go of my arm before I have to embarrass you in front of all these men who respect you.” He did.
    “I mean it, Pulaski. Are you going to cooperate?”
    “Hmm. Magic 8 Ball says: Outlook Not Good.”
    “It would be different if you were a team player. But you never are. While my men are out pounding the street, you’re off in your own little world, doing your weird stuff.”
    “I’m a behaviorist, Granger. I don’t street-pound.”
    “If you really wanted to help, I could assign to you some of the hundred or so people who need to be interviewed. You could hit the back alleyways, talk to contacts, see what you can stir up. Show the street scum that we mean business.”
    “Thanks, but that sounds a little too Starsky and Hutch for me. Who was the first responder?”
    “MacNeill.”
    “Thank God.” Meaning, thank God it wasn’t you. The first officer on the premises has the critical job of securing the crime scene, making sure it isn’t contaminated. If it had been someone as sloppy as Granger, there’d be no clues left to find.
    I turned back toward the blood spatter. Even at a glance I could see the arching pattern that suggested a single blow from behind. And although the quantity was plenty enough to turn my stomach, there was very little blood outside the arch. No pooling on the floor.
    “DRT?” I asked Granger. This is hip cop slang for Dead Right There.
    “No question.”
    “ID?”
    “We’re working on it. My men just arrived. The body is not on the premises.”
    “That adds to the challenge.”
    He made a mock salute. “That’s why you’re here.” His voice rose. “Now get to work, lieutenant. Er…former lieutenant. Whatever. Hop to it.”
    Granger walked away, having accomplished his mission. Which was not to put me in my place. He knew that was useless. What was important to him was that he stage a scene that everyone present would see—with him reading me the riot act, reminding everyone that no matter how smart I was or what cases I had solved in the past, I was not in charge.
    I’d be seriously mad at him—if I didn’t know deep down that it
was
important for the head of the department to be in charge, to be seen to be in charge, to keep upstarts in line. He didn’t want to lose his job any more than I had wanted to lose mine.
    In the back of the kitchen, I spotted Tony Crenshaw. I knew he’d be useful. He’d come on board as an expert in dactylograms—that’s what he insisted on calling what you and I call fingerprints—but had proven himself so darn smart that anymore O’Bannon let him do pretty much anything he wanted to do. What’s more—he liked me, and he had stuck by me, even in the tough days following David’s death. Being single and good-looking didn’t hurt him any, either.
    Tony smiled as I approached. “Me and the boys were betting on how many seconds would pass before you showed up.”
    I guess that was a compliment. Of sorts. “That weird?”
    “Oh yeah.”
    “Slit the guy’s throat?” I paused.
    “Right.”
    “Looks like he did it in a single blow.”
    His eyes widened appreciatively. “Very good. So you
were
awake during my blood spatter seminar.”
    Well, off and on. “Do we know what weapon was used?”
    “Not exactly. Any big knife would do. Lots of them here in the kitchen. I don’t really know yet. But we can safely assume it was something strong and extremely sharp. Look at the pattern of the arch.” With a finger in the air, he traced the path of the blood across the stainless steel counter and then onto the wall behind it. “It’s one thing if your victim is beneath you and you can swing the weapon executioner-style, like you’re swinging one of those hammers to ring the bell at the county fair. But if that had been the case, the blood