A Beautiful Corpse. Christi Daugherty

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      ‘I’m only telling you what Jerrod Scott said.’ Harper’s voice was even. ‘That’s not getting involved. That’s me doing my job.’

      Daltrey took a step closer, pushing into Harper’s space. She was small in stature but no less intimidating for it.

      ‘Well, I’m not going to defend my case to you. And I’m not giving you any juicy tidbits for your rag. Those days are over. They ended the day you testified against Smith.’ Daltrey moved so close, Harper could see the faint smear of mascara against her left eyelid, smell the mint on her breath. ‘You can’t come to me expecting help. And something else: If you come harassing your ex-boyfriend for bits of information I will see to it that he’s busted back to the night shift. Am I clear?’

      The reference to Luke sent anger flaring in Harper’s chest. Daltrey was out of line dragging him into this and she must have known it.

      But arguing with her would only make things worse.

      ‘Fine.’ She held up her hands, stepping back. ‘I won’t ask you any more questions. I get the picture. No help for the traitor. You have a great day, Detective.’

      She didn’t hide her sarcasm.

      ‘Get out of my face, McClain,’ Daltrey said. ‘I have work to do.’

      ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Harper muttered, turning away.

      The tall brick rectangle of the old police building towered over her. Its even rows of arched windows gazed down at her dispassionately as she trudged back along the steamy street to the front entrance.

      But when she reached it, she didn’t go inside. Instead, she turned and walked back to the sidewalk again, pacing in the summer heat as she thought things through.

      She barely noticed the long green branches of the ancient oaks overhead, or the tour bus crawling by a few feet away. She was too angry.

      Normally, she’d brush off Daltrey’s attitude and get on with her job. But after last night, she felt like this had all gone too far.

      She hadn’t told Baxter about Kowalski, yet. She’d been too busy last night, and distracted by running into Luke. She’d wanted to give the incident time to settle before making her next move. But she knew she couldn’t let it pass.

      The tension with the police was ratcheting up. If something didn’t change, she could find herself in the position of not being able to do her job. Or worse. Idiots like Kowalski were dangerous. If the brass gave every patrol officer carte blanche to punish her, she could get hurt.

      If she filed a complaint, though, it would start an almighty war between the police and the newspaper. Manhandling a reporter doing her job at a crime scene on a public street was grounds for one hell of a lawsuit.

      There was no question that would give her satisfaction. But it would make headlines. She really didn’t want to be the news story again.

      Instead, she had a different idea. And the more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

      It was entirely possible Bob Kowalski and Detective Daltrey had given her the ammunition she needed to put a stop to this.

      When she walked back into the police lobby a few minutes later, things had quieted down. Dwayne was at the front desk, eyes on the pile of paperwork in front of him. He was so caught up in his work she was all the way to the desk before he noticed her.

      ‘Hi, Harper,’ he said, distracted. ‘Man, things have been crazy today.’

      Without waiting for her to ask, he slid the day’s police reports across to her.

      After the heat outside, the air-conditioning felt Siberian. The sweat on her back didn’t so much dry as freeze. Harper shivered as she looked through the paperwork absently – a dozen burglaries, car break-ins, domestics – the usual thing. She didn’t write anything down.

      There was only one news story today unless someone else died – and that was Wilson Shepherd.

      Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, Harper whispered, ‘Dwayne.’

      His head jerked up.

      ‘Is there any word on Shepherd? Is he talking?’

      He looked around furtively before leaning toward her.

      ‘He’s talking,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s just not saying what they want to hear. All he says is it wasn’t him. Keeps saying it over and over.’

      No wonder Daltrey was in such a foul mood. She must have been hoping for a full confession after they brought Shepherd in. Without that, they’d need evidence of guilt before they could charge him and, from the looks of things, they didn’t have it.

      Closing the folder, she pushed it back across to him.

      ‘Is the lieutenant in?’ she asked.

      It had been a long time since she’d asked to talk to Blazer about anything – she saw the surprise register on Dwayne’s face.

      ‘He is …’ His voice trailed off, doubtfully.

      ‘I’d like to speak with him,’ Harper said.

      Dwayne didn’t move. ‘He’s in a bad mood today.’

      She didn’t take the hint. ‘When is he not?’

      ‘If that’s what you want …’

      Still looking doubtful, Dwayne picked up the phone and pushed a few buttons.

      ‘Lieutenant? Harper McClain is here. She’d like to talk to you about that River Street case.’

      A long pause followed then, and Harper could hear the faint rumble of Blazer complaining. Dwayne’s expression didn’t change as he listened patiently.

      When Blazer finally stopped, he said, ‘Great, then. Should I send her back?’

      Blazer barked a one-syllable command. Dwayne slid the phone onto the receiver and looked up at her, worry visible in his eyes.

      ‘He says come on through.’

      Harper rested a hand on his desk. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You may not say that after you talk to him.’

      Harper crossed the room to the security door leading into the police offices. Dwayne pressed a button on his desk, and the door unlocked with a loud buzz.

      She pulled it open and walked through.

      When she and Bonnie had been here two nights ago, it had been silent and dark. Now it was teeming with police. Harper joined the flow heading down the long corridor.

      Blazer worked out of an office that she still thought of as Smith’s, at the end of the hallway. Smith’s name had been removed from the door more than a year ago, but Blazer’s didn’t look right to her, painted on the wood in funereal black.

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