The Deepest Cut by Dianne Emley Read Free Book Online Page A

Yuppies would be able to have Midcentury Modern chic but without the icky small rooms, low ceilings, and devil-may-care attitude about the environment.
    Inside the shell, standing among half-destroyed offices that had been carved away around it, was a solitary wall that was fifteen feet high. It and the surrounding area were illuminated by floodlights thatmade it bright as day, but that faded to shadows and darkness beyond the lights’ reach. A clutch of people were gathered at the base of the wall where the corpse lay. PPD Forensic Services specialists were searching the ruins of offices beyond the halo of light, the darkness nearly sucking up their flashlight beams, which flitted like shooting stars. The quarter moon cast scant light through the openings where large picture windows once were, from which the glass had been removed.
    Floodlights lighting their path, Vining and Kissick walked past heavy machinery and huge piles of debris— broken sheets of dry wall, blocks of concrete, and splintered lumber. The flooring had been pulled out and the subfloor was marked with tire tracks from construction equipment.
    From a dark room to their right, Vining and Kissick saw Detective Tony Ruiz approaching with a flashlight. Shuffling ahead of him was a thin, tall man whom Ruiz occasionally nudged to move along faster. The lanky man, who appeared to be barely in his twenties, made forty-seven-year-old Ruiz look even shorter and rounder. Kissick turned his flashlight beam on the man, revealing filthy clothes and long, matted hair. He was Caucasian and his skin was deeply tanned. He clutched a bundle wrapped inside a dirty blanket against his chest.
    “Must be Kevin,” Kissick said. “The homeless guy who found the body.”
    The man squinted as he stepped into the bright light, peering at Vining and Kissick with apprehension. He looked wide-eyed and skittish.
    Vining had seen that feral look before and guessed that he suffered from a mental illness, as was the case with most of the full-time homeless. She had seen him around. He was among Pasadena’s steady homeless population, which hovered near one thousand in number. The city wasn’t a bad place to land on the skids, with mild climate and services offered by the many churches and shelters.
    After giving the guy another shove, Ruiz dropped back, maintaining his distance. Vining guessed why, and as they drew close, her suspicions were confirmed. The stench emanating from the young man was overpowering.
    “This is Kevin Conker,” Ruiz said. “He found the body. I’m gonna get one of the uniformed guys to take him to the station. He stinks too much to get in my car.”
    Ruiz directed his comments to Kissick, not bothering to acknowledge Vining’s presence, as was his habit of late. He and Vining had a lengthy history. Their more recent interactions hadn’t improved matters. When Vining had returned from her extensive Injured on Duty leave, Sergeant Early bumped Ruiz from his long-sought-after desk in Homicide to return it to Vining. Some of Ruiz’s venom was no doubt due to a falling-out he’d had years ago with Vining’s longtime mentor.
    Ruiz worked assaults, under Sergeant Early’s command, and had been brought onto the task force working the spate of gang-related incidents.
    “Don’t take me to jail.” Kevin more tightly squeezed the blanket-wrapped bundle. “I can stay here. I won’t bother anything.”
    Ruiz’s irritation showed. He looked ragged. His fringe of hair and his face were oily and he needed a shave. “I’m not arresting you, but I will if you keep giving me crap.”
    Kevin’s knuckles were turning white from where he held the bundle. Breathing through his mouth, he shuffled backward a few steps. “I want to be outside.”
    “We’re going to the station to get your statement. Got it?”
    Ruiz was being a bully for no reason that Vining could fathom, other than the fact that he could. He had no legal grounds to force Kevin to go to the