The Murder Book by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page A

top. Jumbo pile of henna-colored waves atop her head, what looked to be ten pounds of hair.
    Schwinn, standing facing her, looking even skinnier than usual. Legs slightly spread. Smiling.
    The woman smiled back. Offered both cheeks to Schwinn. One of those Italian movie greetings.
    A few moments of conversation, too low for Milo to make out, then both of them got in the backseat of the unmarked.
    “This is Tonya,” said Schwinn. “She’s a good pal of the department. Tonya, meet my brand-new partner, Milo. He’s got a master’s degree.”
    “Ooh,” said Tonya. “Are you masterful, honey?”
    “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
    Tonya laughed.
    “Start driving,” said Schwinn.
    “Master’s degree,” said Tonya, as they pulled away.
     
     
    At Fifth Street, Schwinn said, “Turn left. Drive into the alley behind those buildings.”
    “Masturbator’s degree?” said Tonya.
    “Speaking of which,” said Schwinn. “My darling dear.”
    “Ooh, I love when you talk that way, Mr. S.”
    Milo reduced his speed.
    Schwinn said, “Don’t do that, just drive regular — turn again and make a right — go east. Alameda, where the factories are.”
    “Industrial revolution,” said Tonya, and Milo heard something else: the rustle of clothing, the
sprick
of a zipper undone. He hazarded one look in the rearview, saw Schwinn’s head, resting against the back of the seat. Eyes closed. Peaceful smile. Ten pounds of henna bobbing.
    A moment later: “Oh, yes, Miss T. I missed you, did you know that?”
    “Did you, baby? Aw, you’re just saying that.”
    “Oh, no, it’s true.”
    “
Is
it, baby?”
    “You bet. Miss me, too?”
    “You know I do, Mr. S.”
    “Every day, Miss T?”
    “Every day, Mr. S. — c’mon, baby, move a little, help me with this.”
    “Happy to help,” said Schwinn. “Protect and serve.”
    Milo forced his eyes straight ahead.
    No sound in the car but heavy breathing.
    “Yeah, yeah,” Schwinn was saying now. His voice weak. Milo thought: This is what it takes to knock off the asshole’s smugness.
    “Oh yeah, just like that, my darling… dear. Oh, yes, you’re… a… specialist. A… scientist, yes, yes.”
     
CHAPTER 7
     
    S chwinn told Milo to drop Tonya off on Eighth near Witmer, down the block from the Ranch Depot Steak House.
    “Get yourself a hunk of beef, darling.” Slipping her some bills. “Get yourself a lovely T-bone with one of those giant baked potatoes.”
    “Mr. S.,” came the protest. “I can’t go in there dressed like this, they won’t serve me.”
    “With this they will.” Another handful of paper pressed into her hand. “You show this to Calvin up front, tell him I sent you — you have any problem, you let me know.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “You know I am.”
    The rear door opened, and Tonya got out. The smell of sex hung in the car. Now the night filtered in, cool, fossil-fuel bitter.
    “Thank you, Mr. S.” She extended her hand. Schwinn held on to it.
    “One more thing, darling. Hear of any rough johns working the Temple-Beaudry area?”
    “How rough?”
    “Ropes, knives, cigarette burns.”
    “Ooh,” said the hooker, with pain in her voice. “No, Mr. S., there’s always lowlife, but I heard nothing like that.”
    Pecks on cheeks. Tonya clicked her way toward the restaurant, and Schwinn got back in front. “Back to the station, boy-o.”
    Closing his eyes. Self-satisfied. At Olive Street, he said: “That’s a very intelligent nigger, boy-o. Given the opportunity a free, white woman woulda had, she woulda made something of herself. What’s that about?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The way we treat niggers. Make sense to you?”
    “No,” said Milo. Thinking: What the hell is this
lunatic
about?
    Then: Why hadn’t Schwinn offered the hooker to
him
?
    Because Schwinn and Tonya had something special? Or because he
knew
?
    “What it says,” offered Schwinn. “The way we treat niggers, is that sometimes smart doesn’t