Detective Carson Ryder Thriller Series Books 4-6: Blood Brother, In the Blood, Little Girls Lost. J. Kerley A.

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       Chapter 10

      Harry Nautilus pulled up the long gravel drive to Dr Evangeline Prowse’s two-story frame house. It was tucked against a wood, a pair of ancient live oaks in the front yard, their branches like tentacles exploring the hot air. Nautilus stopped in the drive. He walked through dappled sunlight to the nearest oak, its trunk a good twenty feet in circumference, and laid his palm against the bark.

      The tree had lived there since antebellum times and Nautilus always felt thrilled to touch a survivor. He patted the tree as if congratulating it on a good journey, then returned to his car and continued to the house. It was smaller than he had imagined, knowing Dr Prowse must have made a nice living from her books as well as a decent salary and a consultation fee now and then. He climbed the steps to the shaded gallery, waited.

      Two minutes later a gray unmarked vehicle entered the drive, tires crunching over the gravel. A second man was in the passenger seat. The car stopped and a six-six black man in a blue suit stepped out, Sergeant Nathaniel Allen of the Alabama State Police, Western Montgomery post. Allen was two inches taller than Nautilus, but at a hundred-eighty pounds to Nautilus’s two-fifty, he was a carrot beside a yam.

      “Hey, Nate, s’up?”

      “Hey, Harry. This is Bill Turnbow, best lock man in five counties.”

      Nautilus shook hands with the locksmith, sixtyish, who pulled a toolbox from the back seat, glanced at the lock on the door, shook his head, said, “Twenty seconds.”

      “So no one from your side’s been in?” Nautilus asked Allen.

      “The killing happened in New York. No need.” Allen looked at the locksmith as he opened his case, and drew Nautilus a few feet down the porch, speaking softly. “A patient wandered?”

      Nautilus nodded. “He’s in New York.”

      “You’re certain?”

      “I’m positive. Carson’s up there now, looking into it.”

      “We’re keeping the lid on the box right now, don’t want to freak out the entire county. But …” He raised an eyebrow at Nautilus.

      “If he even looks south, Nate, we’ll tell you.” Nautilus shifted gears. “You said there’d been a police call here, right?”

      “Three weeks back. I was working late, heading home, when the call came in.”

      “It’s done,” the locksmith said, pushing the door open with his pinky. “Eighteen seconds.”

      Nautilus and Allen walked back to the door. “You’re good,” Nautilus said to the locksmith.

      “The lock’s bad. Piece of crap. It cost a shitload, so the homeowner thought it was good, but if the maker spent as much on the lock as on fancy sales brochures, it might even protect someone.”

      The cops went inside while the locksmith returned his tools to the car. The air conditioner had been left running and cool air poured through the portal. Nautilus breathed a sigh of relief, few things worse than searching through a furnace.

      Nautilus was taken by the simplicity of the décor, two massive couches and three matching chairs, the cushions of soft red leather. There was a bright Oriental carpet, abstract art on the walls reminiscent of Kandinsky. Nautilus shot a look through the window. The locksmith was leaning against the car and smoking a cigar. Judging by the length of the cigar, he’d be outside a while.

      “Go on, Nate,” Nautilus said to Allen. “The police call?”

      “It looked like a standard B&E: Stuff scattered about, drawers open, the place tossed. Someone came through the front door, probably. Got past the lock.”

      “The upshot?”

      Allen frowned. “To hear her tell it, nothing was missing.”

      “After all that work and scrabbling through the Doc’s belongings?”

      “She said nothing was missing. Not a penny. There was something СКАЧАТЬ