Edna Buchanan - Cold Case Squad

Scanned by Highroller.

Proofed by Aunti

Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.

Long legged and nearly naked, the reclining woman stared into thenight, her huge eyes blank and soulless, her long hair barely coveringher voluptuous breasts.

She saw everything, and nothing.

The deserted street was dark.

Her expression never changed as the sleek car on the street belowturned left into a dumpster-lined alley and crept to a halt. The driverkilled the lights. He and another man in dark clothes emerged andquietly approached a steel-plated door. The passenger carried a smallsuitcase.

In this silent hour before dawn, they could hear the sea poundingthe sandy shore four hundred yards away and smell the salt in the air.The driver punched the buzzer beside the door as his passengernervously scanned the street outside. He looked up at the recliningwoman, who smiled seductively.

"Yeah?" The static-distorted voice was almost a bark.

"It's me," the driver said.

"About time."

"Sorry about that. You know how it is."

"Who the hell's that with you?"

"My cousin, from out of town. I want you to meet him."

The buzzer sounded, locks disengaged. The driver swung the door openand gestured for his companion to follow.

On the stairs, the driver appeared preternaturally calm, his stepslight as his companion stumbled hesitantly along behind him.

The nervous man reacted at the sound of a second buzzer thatunlocked a heavy door at the top of the stairs.

A handsome, muscular man in his late thirties sprang up to greetthem with such enthusiasm that his thick, padded leather chaircontinued to rock behind his massive mahogany desk.

His face was pink-cheeked, his eyes and hair dark and shiny. Hiswatch was Rolex, his suit expensive, his winking pinky ring a diamond.He clenched a fine, unlit cigar between his teeth.

"Hey, hey, Buddy." He playfully punched his visitor's shoulder,caught him in a hearty bear hug, then stepped back to scrutinize thestranger.

"Who's this, your cousin? He could be your fucking brother. I seethe family resemblance."

"Meet my cousin Michael."

"So," Chris said, "didn't know you had a cousin." He turned to thestranger, "Me and your cousin Buddy, we go way back, all the way tohigh school."

Chris shook Michael's hand. "So which side a the family you from?"

The stranger hesitated.

"My father's," Buddy said quickly. "His father was my father'sbrother."

"So where you from?"

Michael licked his lips and glanced at Buddy before replying."Milwaukee," he said.

Chris's hooded eyes became thoughtful and he returned to sit behindhis desk. A top drawer was slightly open, just a few inches. "Did youbring what I asked for?"

"Don't I always?" Buddy jerked his head toward the suitcase on thefloor beside Michael. "How's about I fix you two a drink first?"

Chris nodded. "Sure."

"I'll get it, don't get up." With the familiarity of a man who hadbeen there many times, Buddy moved smoothly behind the desk to thecustom, built-in bar. "The usual, Chris?"

"Right."

"What about you, Michael?"

"Scotch, if you have it."

"Siddown," Chris told him.

Michael sat tentatively on the edge of a red plush sofa.

Ice rattled into a heavy crystal glass.

Buddy left the glass on the marble-topped bar, stepped two feet toChris's desk, and slid a 9mm silencer-equipped Luger out of a shoulderholster. As Chris turned to take the glass, Buddy shot him in the faceat close range.

Chris jerked back in his chair, his head at an awkward angle, mouthopen in surprise at the geyser of blood spurting onto the front of hiswhite shirt.

It showered onto the desk blotter as he slumped sideways in hischair. Stepping back so he would not be spattered, Buddy stretched hisarm full length and pumped another slug into the back of the convulsingman's head.

The spasms stopped.

"Hated to do that, but it's the way it's gotta be," Buddy saidregretfully. He turned to Michael, who sat frozen on the red plushcouch, eyes wide.

"Come on, come on! It's right over here." Buddy opened the concealedbookcase safe, which was not locked.

His shaken companion, still staring at the corpse, looked up andswallowed. Hands shaking, he opened the suitcase and removed a foldedsupersize duffel bag.

"Fill 'em up! Fill 'em up!" Buddy demanded.

Galvanized into action by the still-smoking gun in Buddy's hand,Michael began to stuff cash into the suitcase.

"How much you think is in here?" He looked in awe at the big billsstacked tightly on floor-to-ceiling shelves.

"Maybe two million," Buddy said calmly. "Make sure you pack it--"Both men's eyes widened at a small explosion of sound, a toiletflushing in the next room.

"You said nobody else would be here!" Michael's whisper was ragged.

The door to the private bathroom opened.

"Honey? Chris, honey?"

Smile tentative, she stepped into the room. A stripper from the clubdownstairs, the new girl.

She looked young, still wearing her scanty work clothes, glitterypasties and a G-string. Sparkly angel dust accented her eyelids anddecolletage.

She approached them, shaky on strappy stiletto heels. One more stepand she would see Chris, his blood spilling down the side of the chair,soaking into the thick carpet.

Buddy cursed. Who knew Chris would be indulging in his own privateafter-hours lap dance?

"Bring her over here," he told Michael.

"Ma'am," Michael said apologetically, and reached for her elbow. Shetook the fatal step, her painted face puzzled. She screamed, a high,shrill shriek.

"Over here!" Buddy demanded, face flushed.

Once she was dead, they filled the bags. When they were unable tocram another greenback into the duffel bag or the suitcase, Buddyyanked out a deep desk drawer, dumped the contents, and filled it withbills. He also removed the dead man's gun from the slightly open topdrawer.

"What about the camera hooked up to that intercom?" Michael said.

"Doesn't record," Buddy said confidently. "Nothing to worry about."

They took the night's receipts, still stacked on the desk, put themin the safe, locked it, wiped down all they had touched, and left theway they came.

Michael was hyperventilating, breathing hard and trembling. "Youdidn't tell me--"

"Be cool," Buddy warned him, as they carried the bags down thestairs.

The street was still deserted.

Buddy dumped the cash out of the desk drawer into the trunk of theircar. A block away he had Michael toss the wiped-down drawer and Chris'sgun into the backseat of anunlocked, beat-up Chevy convertible. As Michael darted back to the car,heart pounding, he looked up for a moment at the distant figure of thereclining woman, long yellow hair aglow in the warmth of neon. Shestared back, her wet, red smile seductive.

High-pitched screams and ear-splitting shrieks shattered the air.What must the neighbors think? Joan wondered.

Grinning, she closed one eye and peered through the video camera'sviewfinder, slowly panning the front yard.

A bouquet of bright balloons bobbed above the mailbox, marking theparty's location. Two picnic tables adorned with festive papertablecloths stood in the shade of a huge black olive tree. The paperplates, napkins, and party favors were all in red, white, and bluerocket-ship patterns. A sweating galvanized copper tub held soda cansand juice cartons nestled in an icy slush. Puffy white clouds sailedacross a serene blue sky above while happy chaos reigned below.

HoHo the Clown twisted squeaky balloons into animal shapes as arent-a-pony, led by a handler wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots,plodded docilely around the circular old Chicago brick driveway."Giddeup! Giddeup!" bawled the rider, an impatient third grader.