Slow Fall by Edgar Williams

Author:Edgar Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, mystery, detective, florida, incest, televangelist

Pickett looked to Homer.

“The rain,” said Homer. “Must a been blood, not a hell of a lot, but some. Rain washed it away.”

The photographer finished and nodded to Beane. “All right.” Homer motioned to the two white-coated men who stood across from them. “Let's get her outta here.” Then he turned to the dark man next to him. “When can I have it, Sal?”

“I'll get on it first thing tomorrow morning, if that's okay.”

Homer shrugged. “She aint going nowhere. Singleton?”

Sal turned and disappeared into the dark. The skinny kid who'd fallen in the canal detached himself from the clot of figures around the body. “Sir?”

“You go with her.” Homer nodded toward the two men in white. They were lowering Millie into a black plastic bag. “Stay with her till we get someone down there to relieve you.”

“Yessir.”

The man called Sal reappeared and put a hand to Homer's shoulder. “Forgot the warrant. It's out in the car. I'll give it to Franklin on my way out.” He patted Homer on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, you need it.”

Homer said, “Right,” as if sleep were the last thing he were going to get.

The men in white took up the stretcher and followed the man called Sal. Singleton walked behind and nervously touched the brim of his hat to the Sheriff.

Homer directed his flashlight at the ground where Millie had been—had ceased to be. The grass was flat and dry. “Skeeter?”

The remaining deputy straightened.

Homer made a vague circular gesture with his left hand. “Get a rope around here or something.”

“Yessir.” And Skeeter hustled around the bungalow leaving Homer and Pickett alone.

“Well, boy, you sure gotta nose for murder, that's for sure. That's for damn sure.” His light was still on the dry spot. He walked around it to the opposite side, then turned the beam on Pickett's face. “Rough day?” He shut off his light, and walked slowly back around the circle toward the younger man. Homer set his jaw as he approached, stopped close in front of Pickett and thumped an index finger against his chest. “Playtime's over, boy. I wanna know where you been and what you know and I want it now.”

Homer's eyes drilled into Pickett's; but Pickett said nothing.

“I been running round this goddamn county for the last eighteen hours, and I find I'm running in your wake the whole goddamn way. I trace last night's stiff to up round Umatila, then to a jerk joint out Sanford. I pump some oily bastard for an hour, get nothing. Then, on the way out, some bimbo tells me that this guy sounds a helluva lot like you been round asking the same questions as me, but spreading a little green for sweetening. So's I got to threaten her with damn near everthin to jaywalking just to get the same thing out of her for nothing.”

Skeeter busily strung orange tape among the live oaks and around Homer and Pickett, sealing off the crime scene. Homer stopped and thumped Pickett again with his finger.

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