Invisible prey (ld-1) by John Sandford

Author:John Sandford [Sandford, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: det_police

“That's the dog's name,” Lucas said. “Screw.”

“Yeah. That yellow dog. Anyway, she said Screw went after the guy, and the guy wound up back in the van with Screw and that's the last she saw of them,” Flowers said. “She said the van did a U-turn and headed back to Lexington and then turned toward the interstate and she never saw them again.

She ran home and told Kathy. Kathy called nine-one-one and then called me. She's fuckin' hysterical.”

“Call Kathy, tell her I'm coming over,” Lucas said. “Are the cops looking for a van?”

“I guess, but the call probably didn't go out for ten minutes after Jesse got jumped,” Flowers said. “She said the guy was big and beefy and mean, like a football player.

Who do we know like that?”

“Junior Kline… Can you get back on this?” Lucas asked.

“I could, but I'm a long way away,” Flowers said.

“All right, forget it,” Lucas said. “I'll get Jenkins or Shrake to find Junior and shake his ass up.”

“Jesus, tell them not to beat on the guy unless they know he's guilty,” Flowers said.

“Those guys can get out of hand.”

“Tell Barth I'm on the way,” Lucas said.

The artist was wearing a black T-shirt, black slacks, and a black watch cap on his shaven head, a dramatic but unnecessary touch, since it was probably seventy degrees outside, Coombs thought, as she peered at him over the cafe table.

There was tension in the air, and it involved who was going to be the first to look at the check. The photographer was saying, “Camera had eight-bit color channels, and I'm asking myself, eight-bit? What the hell is that all about? How're you gonna get any color depth with eight-bit channels? Furthermore, they compress the shit out of the files, which means that the highlights get absolutely blown out, and the blacks fill up with noise…”

Coombs knew it was a lost cause. Almost without any personal volition, her fingertips crawled across the table toward the check.

Jane pulled the van into the garage and said, “Let's go look. Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can walk,” Leslie said. “Ah, God, bit me up. The fuckin' dog. That's why the kid was walking so slow. She had the dog on a goddamn leash, why didn't you see that? You had the binoculars…”

“The dog was just too close to the ground, or the leash was too long, or something, but I swear to God, I never had a hint,” Jane said.

They went inside, Jane leading the way, up to the master bath. Leslie was wearing the anti-DNA coveralls, which were showing patches of blood on the back of his upper right arm, his right hip, and down both legs. He stripped the coveralls off and Jane gaped: “Oh, my God.”

Probably fifteen tooth-holes, and four quarter-sized chunks of loose flesh. Leslie looked at himself in the mirror: he'd stopped leaking, but the wounds were wet with blood. “No arteries,” he said. “Can't get stitches, the cops will call the hospitals looking for dog bites.

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