Zuni Stew: A Novel by Kent Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page A

make sense.
    She ran her hand through her long red-brown hair, mahogany in the glow of the indirect lighting. “May I read Gabriel’s statement to the police?”
    “Basically, it contributes nothing. He described the scene. Gave us a timeline. He was way too upset to make sense.”
    “I suppose it’s too early for the autopsy reports?” asked Lori.
    “Right. Now, look, you’re going to be square in the middle of this one. This baby is yours—if you’re up to it.”
    “Why me?” She didn’t like to be played with. Spit it out, man, what’s this all about? Brooks leaned forward, arms crossed. She could smell his cologne. Aramis.
    “You’re new here, you’re not familiar with our ongoing cases, and you don’t look like the law. I know you were given the Director’s Leadership Award by former-director L. Patrick Gray, not long before he resigned and Director Kelley stepped in.” He paused before adding, “You are also very attractive, and your performance package underscores the ability you have to get into places, and close to people...with apparent ease.” There was a very pregnant silence between them. “Somehow you gain people’s trust.”
    Brooks was impressed with her looks. Gorgeous. Could be damn good in bed. He lit a cigarette, leaned back in a slouch, his arm over the back of his chair.
    “Off the top of your head, any ideas of how to handle this covertly—even if for a few days? The bodies have been removed; the sanitation crew has the scene covered. So, how would you keep a lid on this?”
    She turned the pages of the prelim case report. Mrs. D’Amico had been in very poor health. That was it.
    “Rose D’Amico became very ill, and on recommendations of her Chicago physician, was flown to a Canadian hospital where a group of specialists were in the midst of a revolutionary way of treating very advanced asthma. The close-knit family went with her.”
    “Well, I’ll be. That’s good, girl, very good. I like it.” Brooks went back to his desk, pulled a single photo from the desk drawer. “This is the fourth child. Jack D’Amico, or should I say, Doctor Jack D’Amico. All we know is that he’s in the military, attached to the Public Health Service. They assigned him to some Indian reservation out west. We got that from Cook County Hospital. They promised us all the Intel on him as soon as they can.” He stopped momentarily, drawing on his cigarette, then added, “Can you imagine a major hospital with so little computer automation? They don’t even have access codes yet. A patient could be dead for a week before the paper work gets done.”
    “That could be to our benefit,” she commented, her attention focused on the brilliant blue eyes of Jack D’Amico.

    11

    T he long afternoon over, Jack was still marveling at the babies born with a full head of hair. Zuni infants looked more mature than wrinkled WASP babies. He had delivered plenty at Cook County Hospital during his OB tenure. Zuni mothers did all the work. No screaming.
    He showered. Jeans, a polo shirt. A quick look at the old rock hospital in the hazy light of dusk. He headed down the dirt street to Newman’s house for dinner.
    “Keshshi!” Bill said. “Welcome, in Zuni-talk.” He was wearing a grey T-shirt, bermuda shorts, and tennis shoes. No laces. A can of beer in hand, and a giant, friendly dog at his side. Nothing like the super-efficient physician of an hour earlier. “Coors, or something stronger? I’m partial to Jim Beam myself.”
    “Beer’s fine.”
    “I don’t have much of a repertoire. Hamburgers with salsa cruda . A little taste of West-Texas-meets-New-Mexico. First I have to check on Mother.”
    “Mother?” Jack felt the rhythmic tap of the big dog’s tail against his leg.
    “This is Flipper, proud Poppa-to be. A Newf, a gentle giant. Newfoundlands—I raise’em. Flapper, the dame, is expecting a litter any time now.”
    “Seems like everyone’s giving birth around here.”
    After making