The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Selena threw in the towel for the day. Or the night. She’d testified in court earlier, then returned to the sheriff’s department and worked long past the time she should have gone home. Now the offices and cubicles for the detectives were eerily quiet, most everyone having left hours earlier.

      The calm before the storm, she thought as she grabbed her purse and pushed back her chair. The lights had been turned down and her footsteps, in the boots she’d worn to the courthouse, rang loudly on the stairs. The whole place was kind of empty and eerie. Alvarez usually liked working alone in the office, late at night, when the phones didn’t ring and the buzz of conversation, the laughter, and angry outbursts from suspects didn’t bother her, but tonight was different.

      Maybe it had been testifying in court. She’d been on the witness stand only a few minutes, explaining how a five-year-old had been killed in a hit-and-run accident by a drunk driver. But the mother’s tortured, tear-streaked face, her guilt for having taken her eyes off her son for just a second, had gotten to her. And on the other side of the courtroom sat the defendant, a boy of no more than twenty, scared and remorseful and guilty as sin of being drunk, leaving the scene of an accident, being a minor in possession of alcohol and on and on.

      So many lives ruined.

      She walked outside and hit a button on her keyless remote to unlock her rig, a department-issued Jeep not unlike Pescoli’s, snow covering the roof and hood.

      Using a scraper she kept in the pocket inside the door, she brushed the snow free from the windshield and climbed behind the steering wheel. It had been a long day. A long week. Hell, it had been a long few months since the body of Theresa Charleton, the single schoolteacher from Boise, had been found. That had been the start, clear back at the end of September. Her body hadn’t been in the forest long; there’d been minimal decomposition and animal activity when they found it. And ever since, her brother Lyle Wilson had been calling, demanding answers.

      “If only,” Alvarez said as she started her SUV and pulled out of the lonely parking lot, where only a few vehicles remained. She angled down a side street before connecting to the main artery that cut down the hillside to the heart of Old Grizzly, the part of the town that was first settled. Where the brick courthouse was flanked by narrow streets lined with offices and shops that had been built over a hundred years earlier. Located nearly five hundred feet below the hill where the sheriff’s offices and jail sat, this part of town had been built on the banks of the Grizzly River, just below the falls. It had originally been inhabited by miners and loggers, an old sawmill downriver giving testament to the boom of the early 1900s.

      Rather than head straight to her empty apartment, she found a parking space on the street near Wild Wills, one of her favorite haunts and a place she knew she could get a decent meal. She climbed out of the SUV and felt a coldness on the back of her neck, a premonition of someone staring at her.

      She turned and saw a man across the narrow street. Wearing a thick parka, his face hidden in shadow, he sent one final glance her way and ambled off toward the river.

      Your cop radar is on overload, she told herself as he disappeared around the corner, and she decided there was no reason to give chase. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since a carton of yogurt and an apple that were supposed to be lunch.

      Adjusting the strap of her purse, she walked through the cold night air to the restaurant.

      Wild Wills, sporting an 1880s western/wilderness theme, was decorated with rough plank walls, hanging wagon-wheel chandeliers and the mounted heads of moose, deer, elk, big-horned sheep and antelope, all with glassy fixed eyes staring down at the patrons. A stuffed grizzly bear, his mouth open in a perpetual bared-tooth growl, greeted the customers as it stood on hind legs near the front door. He’d been dubbed “Grizz” by the townspeople and the owners had always decorated him with the seasons. The huge, shaggy bear had been known to wear a red, white and blue top hat reminiscent of Uncle Sam on the Fourth of July, a small flag wedged between his sharp claws, and last Halloween, he’d been outfitted in one of those freaky masks from the Scream movies, which had somehow been pinned over his face and gaping snout. His props had been a chain saw and witches’ caldron…kind of mixed signals, but hey, it had been Halloween.

      Personally, Alvarez had always found it weird and disturbing, but she’d kept her opinions to herself, and today, as she shoved open the glass doors, she found Grizz decorated to the max, glittery angel wings appearing out of his back, matching halo propped over his head, a necklace of colored lights strung around his furry neck.

      All the while, his glittery glass eyes glowered in rage and his lips pulled back to expose his wide mouth and sharp teeth, despite the open book of Christmas carols tucked into his outstretched paws.

      Like, oh yeah, he was trilling away on “Silent Night,” the page to which the book had been opened. Well, all wasn’t calm tonight, nor was it bright, she thought as she walked through the foyer to the main dining hall, where the decor only got worse.

      As she headed to the back of the large room, she passed tables and booths filled with patrons and guarded by hundred-year-old dead herbivorous animals staring down at her, all their antlers dressed in winking lights or draped in tinsel.

      It was damned freaky.

      Welcome to Grizzly Falls, she thought, struggling out of her jacket and realizing that some of the customers were gazing at her, questions in their eyes for the cop who was trying and failing to find a maniac.

      Ignoring the garish display on the walls and the customers, who turned back to their meals, she settled into a booth near the back. She sat facing the door, a cop habit she couldn’t shake. She just couldn’t stand it if she couldn’t see who was entering or leaving a restaurant.

      Sandi, the owner-waitress, came by. In her hands were two steaming coffeepots. “You want coffee? Or somethin’ stronger? The drink special tonight is what we call a Wild Christmas.”

      “I hate to ask.” The last drink special had been known as a Wild Will Hiccup and had been a god-awful blend of whiskeys.

      “Eggnog, cream de cacao, a splash of cola and a shot of Wild Turkey.” One of Sandi’s eyebrows lifted over the rims of her jeweled glasses. “You can have another kind of whiskey if you want. We use Wild Turkey because of the name.”

      “I think I’ll stick with decaf,” Alvarez said, turning up one of the cups on her table and watching the warm stream of dark liquid flow.

      “Any luck gettin’ that psycho?” Sandi asked. She was a tall woman with a long, gaunt face and eyes darkened with heavy liner and, today, probably СКАЧАТЬ