The Immortal Detective by D. B. Woodling

Author:D. B. Woodling [Woodling, D. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CamCat Publishing

Chapter 25

Detective Reed launched her personal car, a pristinely restored 1970 Ford Mustang, over the crumbling concrete and brought it to an abrupt stop, the engine emitting one final growl before she switched off the ignition.

“Busy night,” she said. “I came as soon as I could.”

I fed her the details, particularly those pertaining to the possible involvement of a gang, and awaited her input.

She shifted her weight and parked one hand against a hip. “There’s a lot of chatter on the street about a drug war between the KC Crusaders and their rivals, the Main Street Ghosts. In fact, I had just given up on an all-night stakeout near the Ghosts’ headquarters, when a call came in about a possible home invasion two blocks east. Like I said, I came as soon as I could.”

“This can’t leak to the press. I don’t want to tip off the perps.” I waited for the words to sink in. “Do you have any intel on a street gang embracing a satanic cult affiliation?”

Her expression surprised me and was difficult to read. She seemed angry? Or was that surprise I saw on her face?

“It’s unusual,” she stammered past a squint. “What does that have to do with what happened here?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with it. I received some unusual eye-witness testimony to a kidnapping case, and I wanted your opinion.”

“What kind of testimony?”

“An atypical tattoo—an inverted cross.”

Reed’s lips twitched sarcastically. “And you think your guy is not only a gang member but has, what, a satanic fetish?” She emitted a guttural laugh. “It could have been a depiction of the Cross of Saint Peter—the Petrine cross.”

I shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible. But we’re talking about five abductors. So, you can see why I thought a gang may have been involved.”

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Gangs don’t usually participate in serial abductions. Rape, sure, but once they’re finished with their victims, they usually release them, unharmed.”

Unharmed! I chewed the inside of both cheeks and wondered how much time, if any, she’d spent with victims of rape. “Well, you know what they say: There’s a first time for everything.”

Reed shortened the distance between us. “Do me a favor, Crenshaw: don’t stir the hornet’s nest on a speculative assumption. I’m this close,” she said, pinching her fingers, “to a massive weapons and fentanyl bust.”

I wagged my head and pressed my palms her way. “You got it, Detective.” Unless I happen upon some damn compelling evidence.

“And in return, if I spot a banger with a similar tattoo, I’ll let you know.”

My instincts convinced me she wouldn’t tell me shit until after she’d made her arrests. Reed wasn’t only a lone wolf, she was a glory hound—proficient in accumulating collars and marking her territory. “You do that.”

“How’s the officer?” she said, tipping her head toward the bar.

“He didn’t make it.”

Her eyes scanned the perimeter and then widened, like a terrifying thought had just occurred to her. “I don’t see your partner.

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