Tough Love by Nancy Holder Read Free Book Online Page B

somber nod. “"We’'ve got some great tire impressions,”" she announced. “"Pickup truck, definitely. Also, a patch job on the right front tire.”"
    “"That’'s six kinds of fabulous,”" Grace said. “"A distinguishing mark.”"
    Ham nodded. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, checking the caller ID. “"It’'s Indian,”" he announced. Indian was their informant on the Haleem drive-by. So maybe there was more good news.
    He took the call, listening. “"Yeah, good,”" he said. “"Cool, man. Sure. Alone. Of course.”" He clicked his phone shut. “"Indian’'s hungry. I’'m taking him to that coffee shop over by that strip club.”"
    “"They’'ve got good onion rings,”" Grace offered.
    “"Why doesn’'t Indian like you?”" Rhetta asked Grace. Then Rhetta got a call, too, and opened her phone.
    “"Maybe he’'s a Longhorn fan,”" Grace answered. “"Or he thinks women shouldn’'t be in law enforcement. I don’'t give it much thought.”" She made a face. “"Have you ever seen him, Rhetta? His face is like a piece of leather, swear to God. And his hair—--”"
    She fell silent as Rhetta held up a finger, asking for quiet. Her mouth dropped open.
    “"Are you sure? Yes, of course I mean that rhetorically.”" She listened hard, face going a bit sour. Then Rhetta flicked the phone shut.
    “"Henry got three bullets out of the dealer,”" she told Grace and Ham. “"Ballistics has them.”"
    “"Three?”" Grace echoed. “"Guys on the night crew said one.”"
    “"The other two shots entered the body at an entirely different angle. Rooftop, most likely. We’'re going back over there.”" She looked perturbed; Rhetta prided herself on the Crime Lab’'s thoroughness. This one was not Rhetta’'s fault. She’'d only had so much time to process the crime scene, and the ME assistant on the scene had said one bullet. There’'d be no need to go all over kingdom come looking for anything else. You did what you could with what you had. The department was as strapped as the rest of the economy. So many cases, so little time.
    “"Two shooters,”" Grace surmised, raising her brows. She thought about her dream, with the kite going up to the rooftop. Maybe that had been symbolic, going up on a roof. Ham looked equally intrigued, although, of course, he didn’'t know anything about any of her dreams. “"They really wanted that guy.”"
    “"It appears so,”" Rhetta said.
    “"Why?”" Ham asked. “"He was just a scummy, low-life dealer. A bottom feeder. What’'s the motive?”"
    “"Oh, I don’'t know. Maybe because he fatally poisoned a lot of people?”" Rhetta asked.
    Grace shrugged and looked at Ham. “"Maybe Indian knows. He’'s a bottom feeder, too.”" She looked at Rhetta. “"What have you got?”"
    “"The dealer had no wallet, but I found fibers consistent with leather—--very cheap—--in his pocket and he was still wearing a wallet chain. Traces of meth were on the chain and the fibers.”"
    “"Was it a robbery? A dealer might have a lot of cash on him,”" Grace surmised, “"if he was stupid.”"
    “"By definition,”" Rhetta replied, “"dealers are stupid.”"
    “"So they could have wanted the cash. Or committed payback on behalf of a loved one.”" She fell silent, processing her thoughts, looking for a conclusion.
    Ham turned to Grace. “"I’'ll see what I can shake loose. Later?”"
    Later, as in grabbing some burgers and rolling around in her sheets while they mulled over the case. “"Clay,”" she said apologetically. “"Sleepover.”"
    Ham looked bummed but he took the news well. He said, “"Sure, man,”" and Grace and Rhetta watched him trot away.
    Rhetta smoothed some errant strands off Grace’'s forehead and sighed, pursing her lips. “"I feel terrible about Malcolm.”"
    “"Jamal’'s back in the Sixty-Sixes,”" Grace said, “"except he never left.”"
    “"Oh, that’'s awful, Grace,”" Rhetta replied, also very sad. “"How’'s Mr. Briscombe doing?”"