Done for a Dime by David Corbett

Author:David Corbett [Corbett, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780752867281
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2003-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Murchison returned to the Victorian where he reconnected with the officer-in-charge, a corporal named Coover—African American, short and moonfaced but hard in the body. Nose tackle material. He closed his eyes every time he laughed, and he laughed often.

Coover pointed vaguely toward the street. “Anything new?”

“Tell you in a minute. What about in here?”

Coover nodded at the door to the cellar. “Just what we found down there, the funky, nasty, smelly soup cans and such. Jesus. Nobody knows the rubble I’ve seen.” He laughed, softer than usual, but even so his whole torso shook and the eyes narrowed to slits. He pointed to the ceiling. “And his little crow’s nest up top. No weapon. No stash. This floor, second floor look clear. What’s naked to the eye, any rate.” He ran his fingertips along a window ledge, rubbed the gritty dust away. “Messed up, but clear.”

“Anything to suggest the guy had a cell phone, a recharger, batteries, anything?”

“No such luck, and that’d be luck, Murch, admit it.”

“Evidence tech on the way?”

“Yeah, and the stuff in plain view we got bagged.”

Murchison liked working with Coover. He did things. “Okay.” He took a pair of gloves out of his pocket, slipped them on. “Let’s get busy on outside plain view.”

Coover shot him a wary look. “Sure that’s not a little gung-ho?”

“We’ve got permission from the owners to search the premises. And the kid staying here had no expectation of privacy, he was an intruder. Add to that what I learned outside. The girl who was with the vic last night? She remembers a guy matches the visual on our slob in here getting into it with the old man at the club where the son was playing. Besides, the guy looks like a firebug, and we’ve had too may fires around town not to act on that. I’ll take the risk. Public safety. We’re looking for a weapon and any further evidence of arson.” And any safes, he thought, where Long Walk Mooney stashes his cash. He looked around the empty, filthy space. “Okay. You want, start down-stairs. Do the wall sockets, check for loose floorboards, ceiling panels, everything. You find anything, leave it where it is, holler. Let me make the judgment call before we actually bag it up. If it looks like I should have gone for the warrant—”

“I can keep a secret,” Coover said.

Murchison nodded, grateful and at the same time uneasy. “I appreciate that. I’m gonna take one last check upstairs.”

On the second landing, a pull-down spring ladder led to the third floor. Murchison scurried up, entering an attic, half built out. Plywood sheets had been laid down for flooring, and where they hadn’t been, knob-and-tube wiring ran exposed along fiberglass insulation decades old. He lifted the nearest edge of the dense stuff, once pink, now gray, checking for a stash spot—a gun, shells, a cleaning kit, anything—then made a mental note to make sure they ripped up every square inch of it before they were through.

The whole place smelled like an ashtray.

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