Crimson Death
Page 129
“I’m counting three ambulances,” Edward said.
“Isn’t that a lot?” Dev asked.
“Yes,” we answered in unison.
“Does it mean there are survivors?”
“Maybe,” I said.
The house that was the focus of all the cars was tucked in behind one of the stone walls with only the top of its roof showing, or at least it was all I could see. I’d have liked to ask Nicky—or Dev, who was even taller—if he could see more, but one, I try not to point out how short I am, and two, it wasn’t a police officer kind of question. Men did not ask other men who were taller if they could see better over a wall, unless actual enemies were hiding behind the wall to maybe shoot them. Short of emergencies involving death, men did not admit to certain things and that was one of them. I’d been working in male-dominated fields for too long not to understand the rules. If you wanted to play with the boys, you needed to know how to play like one.
There was a uniformed officer in front of the metal gates leading inside. He stopped us, because now that we didn’t have Nolan with us none of us actually had credentials for this country. We needed an Irish cop to get us inside. Edward flashed his Marshal credentials, and the uniform didn’t react badly to them. It meant even if he didn’t know Ted on sight, he knew he was around and helping with the case. He still wouldn’t let us inside the gate.
In his best Ted cowboy drawl, he said, “I appreciate that you’ve heard of me, pardner. Could you locate Superintendent Pearson or Inspector Sheridan to escort us inside?”
“Who are they?” he asked, and nodded at us.
I flashed my credentials, and the fact that they matched Edward’s seemed to reassure the officer. “We heard more of you were coming from the States.”
I smiled and tried to look helpful, encouraging even. “We just landed at the airport and came straight here,” I said.
The officer glanced at the other four men. I expected him to ask for their badges, too, but he didn’t. He glanced behind him at the gate and the house beyond, and then he shivered. You didn’t see that often in cops that have been on the job long. Either he was younger than he looked, or something in the house behind him had seriously unnerved him.
“I know we’re supposed to think of them as citizens with a disease and they can’t help what’s happening to them, but . . . this isn’t a disease.”
“We’re here to find them and stop them,” Edward said.
“I hope you do . . . stop them, I mean. I hope you stop them all.” And there was anger in his voice now.
“Let us inside, pardner, and we’ll start hunting ’em down.”
He reached toward the gate. He wanted to let us inside, but we hadn’t been cleared. What’s a cop to do? I was sort of wishing him to let us in but wasn’t sure how much trouble he’d be in if he did it.
Edward’s phone rang. “Inspector Sheridan, I’m at the gate trying to get inside now. Yes, Marshal Blake is standing right beside me.” He listened for a second and then said to the officer, “The inspector would like to speak with you.”
The officer hesitated and then took the phone. He did a lot of Yes, ma’am, No, ma’am, and finally handed the phone back to Edward, who was smiling warmly at him, doing his best Ted impression.
“You can go inside. Inspector Sheridan will meet you at the front door.” He opened the gate for us and in we all went, all six of us.
39
INSPECTOR RACHEL SHERIDAN was tall, slender, with nearly black hair falling in glossy straightness to her shoulders. She’d turned the ends under with a curling iron, or maybe curlers. My hair was so curly that I didn’t really use either, but whatever she’d done it looked good. She managed to be both pale and dark complexioned, like someone who would tan if she ever got enough sun. The white button-up shirt may have helped her face look darker. The black pantsuit didn’t fit her well, as if she’d lost weight recently. Her face was a soft triangle, and the bones of her face and even her hands were delicate; elfin was the word that came to mind, even though she had to be five inches taller than me, or maybe more. But despite the height she was delicate looking and very pretty. If she’d been just a little curvier I’d have said she was beautiful, but I’d have had to know if she was naturally that thin or starved herself. If the first, we could talk; if the second, I didn’t have patience for women who ate lettuce leaves or less to keep some mysterious perfect size. She let us step inside enough to get out of the rain, but then stopped us because there were four more of us than she was expecting. “I’m glad you’re here, Ted, and Marshal Blake. I will be happy to have your expertise today, but I don’t know these other men.”
We did quick introductions. She couldn’t even shake hands, because she was wearing the rubber gloves that she’d already walked through the crime scene wearing. She was also wearing the little booties over her shoes. She wasted a nicer-than-work smile on Edward, but as I introduced the rest she smiled a little more than typical at a crime scene at Nicky and Dev. I guess everyone has a type and apparently, Sheridan had a thing for blue-eyed blond men. She wasn’t unprofessional, but I could just tell that she was a little more happy to see them than Jake and Kaazim. I filed it away for later to make sure she didn’t waste too much time flirting with men who were taken. I’d run afoul of one female detective back in St. Louis who still held a grudge because I had “pretended” that Nathaniel wasn’t my boyfriend, so she felt she’d made a fool of herself over him. Women puzzle me. Sheridan motioned all of us to the box of gloves. “Even if you don’t all get to walk through the house, I don’t want to waste our time eliminating any of your fingerprints from the investigation.”
None of us argued; we just slipped the little plastic-bootie things over our shoes and then gloved ourselves. Now, whoever was walking through the crime scene wouldn’t accidentally track in evidence, or step on evidence in the house, and we wouldn’t be getting forensics excited about a fingerprint that didn’t match the family.
A tall man, as in taller than Dev, walked into the room. He was almost completely bald with just an edge of dark hair trimmed short. His jacket was a subdued gray check, pants solid gray; he wore a white button-down shirt that seemed to be handed out to all detectives in America, and here, bisected by a tie that almost matched the jacket. Once I would have thought it matched, but I’d been dating Jean-Claude and Nathaniel too long, and it had made me pickier.
“Forrester, good that you’re here, and you as well, Marshal Blake.” He was wearing gloves, so there were no handshakes with this inspector, who was introduced as Superintendent Pearson, either. He glanced at the men around us. “And who are these gentlemen?”
“Isn’t that a lot?” Dev asked.
“Yes,” we answered in unison.
“Does it mean there are survivors?”
“Maybe,” I said.
The house that was the focus of all the cars was tucked in behind one of the stone walls with only the top of its roof showing, or at least it was all I could see. I’d have liked to ask Nicky—or Dev, who was even taller—if he could see more, but one, I try not to point out how short I am, and two, it wasn’t a police officer kind of question. Men did not ask other men who were taller if they could see better over a wall, unless actual enemies were hiding behind the wall to maybe shoot them. Short of emergencies involving death, men did not admit to certain things and that was one of them. I’d been working in male-dominated fields for too long not to understand the rules. If you wanted to play with the boys, you needed to know how to play like one.
There was a uniformed officer in front of the metal gates leading inside. He stopped us, because now that we didn’t have Nolan with us none of us actually had credentials for this country. We needed an Irish cop to get us inside. Edward flashed his Marshal credentials, and the uniform didn’t react badly to them. It meant even if he didn’t know Ted on sight, he knew he was around and helping with the case. He still wouldn’t let us inside the gate.
In his best Ted cowboy drawl, he said, “I appreciate that you’ve heard of me, pardner. Could you locate Superintendent Pearson or Inspector Sheridan to escort us inside?”
“Who are they?” he asked, and nodded at us.
I flashed my credentials, and the fact that they matched Edward’s seemed to reassure the officer. “We heard more of you were coming from the States.”
I smiled and tried to look helpful, encouraging even. “We just landed at the airport and came straight here,” I said.
The officer glanced at the other four men. I expected him to ask for their badges, too, but he didn’t. He glanced behind him at the gate and the house beyond, and then he shivered. You didn’t see that often in cops that have been on the job long. Either he was younger than he looked, or something in the house behind him had seriously unnerved him.
“I know we’re supposed to think of them as citizens with a disease and they can’t help what’s happening to them, but . . . this isn’t a disease.”
“We’re here to find them and stop them,” Edward said.
“I hope you do . . . stop them, I mean. I hope you stop them all.” And there was anger in his voice now.
“Let us inside, pardner, and we’ll start hunting ’em down.”
He reached toward the gate. He wanted to let us inside, but we hadn’t been cleared. What’s a cop to do? I was sort of wishing him to let us in but wasn’t sure how much trouble he’d be in if he did it.
Edward’s phone rang. “Inspector Sheridan, I’m at the gate trying to get inside now. Yes, Marshal Blake is standing right beside me.” He listened for a second and then said to the officer, “The inspector would like to speak with you.”
The officer hesitated and then took the phone. He did a lot of Yes, ma’am, No, ma’am, and finally handed the phone back to Edward, who was smiling warmly at him, doing his best Ted impression.
“You can go inside. Inspector Sheridan will meet you at the front door.” He opened the gate for us and in we all went, all six of us.
39
INSPECTOR RACHEL SHERIDAN was tall, slender, with nearly black hair falling in glossy straightness to her shoulders. She’d turned the ends under with a curling iron, or maybe curlers. My hair was so curly that I didn’t really use either, but whatever she’d done it looked good. She managed to be both pale and dark complexioned, like someone who would tan if she ever got enough sun. The white button-up shirt may have helped her face look darker. The black pantsuit didn’t fit her well, as if she’d lost weight recently. Her face was a soft triangle, and the bones of her face and even her hands were delicate; elfin was the word that came to mind, even though she had to be five inches taller than me, or maybe more. But despite the height she was delicate looking and very pretty. If she’d been just a little curvier I’d have said she was beautiful, but I’d have had to know if she was naturally that thin or starved herself. If the first, we could talk; if the second, I didn’t have patience for women who ate lettuce leaves or less to keep some mysterious perfect size. She let us step inside enough to get out of the rain, but then stopped us because there were four more of us than she was expecting. “I’m glad you’re here, Ted, and Marshal Blake. I will be happy to have your expertise today, but I don’t know these other men.”
We did quick introductions. She couldn’t even shake hands, because she was wearing the rubber gloves that she’d already walked through the crime scene wearing. She was also wearing the little booties over her shoes. She wasted a nicer-than-work smile on Edward, but as I introduced the rest she smiled a little more than typical at a crime scene at Nicky and Dev. I guess everyone has a type and apparently, Sheridan had a thing for blue-eyed blond men. She wasn’t unprofessional, but I could just tell that she was a little more happy to see them than Jake and Kaazim. I filed it away for later to make sure she didn’t waste too much time flirting with men who were taken. I’d run afoul of one female detective back in St. Louis who still held a grudge because I had “pretended” that Nathaniel wasn’t my boyfriend, so she felt she’d made a fool of herself over him. Women puzzle me. Sheridan motioned all of us to the box of gloves. “Even if you don’t all get to walk through the house, I don’t want to waste our time eliminating any of your fingerprints from the investigation.”
None of us argued; we just slipped the little plastic-bootie things over our shoes and then gloved ourselves. Now, whoever was walking through the crime scene wouldn’t accidentally track in evidence, or step on evidence in the house, and we wouldn’t be getting forensics excited about a fingerprint that didn’t match the family.
A tall man, as in taller than Dev, walked into the room. He was almost completely bald with just an edge of dark hair trimmed short. His jacket was a subdued gray check, pants solid gray; he wore a white button-down shirt that seemed to be handed out to all detectives in America, and here, bisected by a tie that almost matched the jacket. Once I would have thought it matched, but I’d been dating Jean-Claude and Nathaniel too long, and it had made me pickier.
“Forrester, good that you’re here, and you as well, Marshal Blake.” He was wearing gloves, so there were no handshakes with this inspector, who was introduced as Superintendent Pearson, either. He glanced at the men around us. “And who are these gentlemen?”
