The 9th Hour (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 1) by Claire Stibbe Read Free Book Online Page B

Said you sent that photograph over last night.”
    Temeke began to feel a wave of dizziness. “Me?”
    “That’s what she said.”
    “I did no such thing. Must have been bloody Fowler with a fake British accent.”
    “I doubt he could pull that one off.”
    Temeke could hear the laugh in Luis’ voice. He could also hear the doubt. “Sounds like someone’s trying to give DCPD a bad name.”
    “Here’s some good news,” Luis continued. “Got a call from one of my buddies at the Press Club, A guy called Midge Toledo. Works behind the bar. Said a guy came in a couple of days ago asking for a driver. Had a ton of money. And an accent. The reason Midge remembered him was because two of his waitresses were giving him the eye. Got a good description.”
    “What did he look like.”
    “Blond hair in a braid. Foreign.”
    “Did he pay with a credit card?”
    “Cash. But get this. Toledo bagged his wine glass.”
    Temeke punched the air with one hand. “I owe you one.”
    “You stood me up again,” Luis said. “Anyone would think you were seeing someone else.”
    “How was Fat Jacks?”
    “Heaving.”
    Temeke chuckled. Too many kids drank shots of Tequila like juicy juice and then wondered why they spent the next half hour throwing up an entire paycheck.
    “I’ll be offline for ten days. Going fishing with the wife at Cochiti Lake,” Luis said.
    “Do they have any fish in Cochiti Lake?”
    Temeke heard Luis laugh, heard the click and the dial tone. Lucky sod, he thought, flicking his cigarette under Hackett’s car and making for the warmth of the lobby.
    Sergeant Moran straightened up wearily from behind the Journal and mumbled a greeting. Becky, his daughter, stood by his side, amber eyes sweeping with eyeliner and lips pursed around a lollipop.
    “Are you sure that’s a skirt?” Temeke said, pointing at a garment no bigger than a man’s handkerchief.
    “Course it’s a skirt, silly,” she said, rolling that lollipop along her bottom lip. “All the girls are wearing them.”
    Not for long, he thought. It would be up round her waist before the day was out, especially with baby-face Jarvis on his hands and knees pretending to hunt for his pencil. He was partial to high school seniors. Dirty old sod.
    “I’ve got a new boyfriend,” she said, lips drawn back over white teeth. “Older than the last one.”
    “Not too old I hope.” Temeke saw the red bike leaning against the wall. She’d likely pedaled over from Cibola High to see her dad to tell him the good news.
    In that skirt.
    “Looks like a movie star,” she said, lifting her chin a little higher.
    “I hope he’s got the salary to go with it.”
    “I need to talk to you,” she said, eyes flicking toward the drinking fountain.
    “What about?” He followed her. It wasn’t the first time. He’d begun to dread that drinking fountain. Didn’t like bending over it for too long in case a hand found its way around his buttocks.
    Fingers brushed against his arm, and then two flat hands cupped his chest. He found himself backing up against the wall, eyes flicking at the duty desk in case Sarge was looking.
    “I’ve got a date,” she whispered, “after work.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.”
    “You think that’s OK?”
    “Of course it’s OK. Girl like you should have a boyfriend. Your dad’s met him, right?”
    “Well that’s the thing.” She sucked in her bottom lip, eyes dreamy, far away. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He’s older than me. Much older. I like older men. Is it wrong to like older men?”
    Temeke looked down at two amber eyes, oddly attractive against olive skin. He felt that unmistakable vibration in his gut, the one that told him she wasn’t telling him everything. “Depends how much older.”
    “Thirty or so.”
    “What’s a thirty year old man want with a teenage girl?”
    “I’m an adult.”
    “Only just,” he said. “You might want to find out what his intentions are.”
    Temeke saw the