A Body To Die For. G. A. McKevett

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СКАЧАТЬ they approached the Jaguar, several of the policemen nodded to Dirk and greeted Savannah. They didn’t appear to be doing much except providing a “presence,” meandering around the scene, chatting with each other.

      Savannah knew the drill all too well. Cops were just as nosy as anybody else. Hanging out at a crime scene provided a lot better entertainment than sitting in your squad car in an all-night convenience store parking lot, sipping free coffee.

      A middle-aged cop wearing a uniform that was stretched tight across his ample belly walked over to them and put out his hand to Dirk.

      “Sergeant Coulter. Good to see you,” he said with a modicum of enthusiasm.

      Dirk gave him a grunt and a brief handshake that was dismissive at best.

      The cop turned to Savannah, perhaps searching for a warmer form of communication. “Hi, Savannah. You’re looking mighty fine tonight.”

      Savannah gave him a quick once-over, thinking that, even though he was totally bald—not a hint of a hair on his head—his appearance wouldn’t have been improved one iota if he’d had a world-class toupee.

      “Why, thank you, darlin’,” she replied, desperately trying to remember the guy’s name. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself.”

      He flushed with pleasure at the compliment. In fact, he was so pleased that she felt only half-guilty for lying to him.

      If Granny Reid’s predictions were right, any minute now her nose would begin to grow, and her tongue would turn black and fall out.

      “Are you senior officer here, Wiggins?” Dirk asked him, waves of impatience rolling off him.

      “Yeah,” was the equally curt reply.

      “Start a log yet?”

      Rather than answer, Wiggins held up a clipboard with some forms attached.

      “Okay.” Dirk nodded toward the mob of blue uniforms crowding around the Jaguar. “Get all their names and tell them to stay at least twenty feet from the vehicle. Did you call CSI yet?”

      “Um…not yet.”

      “What are you waiting for? Do it! They should’ve been halfway here by now.”

      Wiggins walked away and once he was out of earshot, Dirk said, “Easy on the eyes, my ass. Herb Wiggins is as ugly as a junkyard dog, but not nearly as smart.”

      “Herb. That’s his first name.”

      “He’s fat and bald.”

      “He’s sweet.”

      “Hurrumph.”

      She could have added that Dirk wasn’t as svelte around the middle as he’d once been, not to mention a little thin on top. But in all the years she’d known him, he had never once criticized her midlife spread, so…

      Once Wiggins had delivered Dirk’s message, the uniforms scattered, standing a respectable distance away, and watched, eager to see what was going to happen next.

      “Tromped all over my crime scene,” Dirk mumbled as he and Savannah approached the Jaguar. Then, loudly, he said, “You bunch of morons. Don’t you know to respect the perimeter of a scene? All of you…check the treads of your shoes before you leave here. I don’t want anybody walking off with evidence, like a spent shell.”

      Immediately, fifteen to twenty policemen began hopping on one leg, then the other, as they lifted their feet and examined their soles. It reminded Savannah of a really bad Riverdance routine, and she had to suppress a giggle.

      Her moment of humor faded, though, as they neared the convertible.

      The car was only dimly illuminated by the headlights and flashing lights of the squad cars. Momentarily, the moon had gone behind some clouds, and there were no streetlights of any kind up in the foothills outside of town. The red and blue lights playing over the glistening surface of the expensive automobile gave it an eerie, sinister appearance.

      She felt a prickling feeling that ran along the back of her neck and down her arms, a sensation she’d had many times when approaching the scene of a violent crime.

      She was prepared to admit that some of the creepy feeling she was experiencing might have been due to what she had been told about the car’s interior. But many times when approaching an area—even before she knew it was the scene of a crime—she had felt the same instinctive revulsion sweep over her, warning her that all wasn’t well.

      And all wasn’t well with the Jaguar. The top was down on the convertible and even in the poor lighting, the gory evidence was obvious.

      The blood spray on the passenger’s side of the windshield and the other biological matter on the fine, burled walnut trimmed dash, told the story all too clearly; someone had been murdered in that vehicle.

      “Ee-e-ew,” she said, feeling her stomach turn.

      “Yeah,” he replied. “At moments like this I wish I’d followed my dream and gone into another line of work.”

      “Dream? You had a dream?”

      “Well, don’t look so damned surprised.”

      “What was it?”

      “I’m not telling you.”

      She gouged him in the ribs. “Tell me.”

      “No.”

      “Why not?”

      “You’ll laugh, and I’m busy.”

      He had her there. They were busy. With Bill Jardin’s brains on his dash, there were more important things to attend to.

      She flipped a mental switch and went into professional mode.

      A young policeman walked by, and she asked to borrow his flashlight. He handed it to her with a flirtatious smile, and as he walked away, it occurred to her that she did miss being a cop, being surrounded by gorgeous, virile and…okay…seriously horny…men all day.

      She sighed and mentally flipped that switch again.

      Playing the beam of the flashlight over the exterior of the car, she said, “This vehicle hasn’t been sitting here for any five days. It’s dusty and dirty up in these hills, but the outside of this car is as clean as a whistle.” She trailed the light over the seats and doors. “And other than the blood spatter, it’s clean inside, too.”

      “Of course it hasn’t been here,” Dirk said, slightly miffed.

      She had paid attention to two other males in less than five minutes and that was bound to put him in a huff every time.

      “You don’t have to be snippy about it,” she said.

      “It’s just obvious. This car cost more than my trailer and—”

      “Well, ye-e-eah. More than СКАЧАТЬ