Knight In Black Leather by Gail Dayton (people reading books .txt) 📗

supposed she'd been around her husband after he died. But murder was different.

"I know. But you're with me. I figure we can explain things when we get there. What time is it?" She glanced at the dashboard clock.

"Six-thirty-ish. Sun'll be up in another hour or so."

"That late? I'm sorry I slept so long. But 6:30 isn't as strange as being called to the--to that place at four in the morning."

"You needed the sleep." And he'd needed her close.

He appreciated her chit-chat. Helped him keep from obsessing about what he'd find at the morgue. Morgue--the word Marilyn couldn't say. He didn't blame her.

They parked out front, but the front door was still locked, so Eli led the way around the corner hunting for one that might be open. When he found a cluster of police cars and ambulances, he figured they were getting close.

Marilyn hovered as he worked his way slowly up the stairs--crutch and bad leg, good leg, one after the other. He thought about telling her to back off, then decided he liked the hovering. The door ahead opened with a thunk, sending Marilyn jumping back. A tall, broad, black man with a shaved head and black overcoat peered out through the opening.

"Ms. Ballard? I'm Detective Terrell Jackson. I'm sorry, I should have told you to come around to the side. I didn't think about the main door being locked at this hour." He shook Marilyn's hand, then looked past her to Eli standing beyond and his eyebrows shot up.

"Court?" he said. "Eli Court? Man, I thought you were dead."

Eli shook the hand that was offered with his left hand, surprised by the offer. "Not yet. Just a little battered." He lifted his broken arm in illustration.

"Hell. You're still getting the sh--crap beat out of you. But I have to say it's better than being dead. After Fat Fred bought it and you vanished, I knew sure you were dead too." Jackson looked Eli up and down, grinning like an idiot. "But you're not."

Then Eli placed him. Jackson had been a patrol cop back in the day. One of the better ones. A walking cliché--tough as nails, mean as a junkyard dog, straight as an arrow. A real "truth, justice and the American Way" kind of guy. He deserved the promotion to detective.

"Come inside out of the cold." Jackson motioned them inside. "How'd you survive, Court?"

"Left town. Got a job." He didn't want to stand around in this house of death making small talk. "You found Teresa?"

"Some patrol officers found a body. We couldn't identify it from her arrest photos. That's why they called me in, because I knew Teresa Howell. I couldn't ID her either. Thought maybe Ms. Ballard could." Jackson led them down the green-painted hall. Eli touched Marilyn's arm with his fingertips and she laid her hand on his cast.

"I don't know her," she said. "I made the call for Eli."

Jackson gave her a quick, sharp glance. "You a relative of his?"

"No, we're--he's staying with me. While he heals." Marilyn looked so cute when she blushed.

"Now, Marilyn--" Eli brought her hand up and kissed the back. "You know it's more than that." He stuck with innuendo because he couldn't resist teasing her, but he didn't dare joke outright about them being lovers. Not now that it had an outside--way outside--chance of actually happening.

She glared at him. "Teresa?" she said, reminding him of their purpose here.

The detective was looking curiously from one of them to the other, but at Marilyn's not-so-subtle hint, he opened a door. "There's a video viewing room here."

Eli released her hand. "I want you to wait here."

Marilyn shook her head. "I'll go inside. It's video, right? She looked at Jackson who nodded. "So I don't have to look. I--don't really want to stay out here by myself."

Which might be the truth, or part of it. Eli figured the rest of the truth had to do with Marilyn's hovering tendencies, and since he'd already decided he liked them, he didn't see any need to object. He let her lay her hand over his on the crutch as they followed Jackson into the room.

It was glaring white after the green hall. The file cabinets on every wall but one surrounded them like disapproving sentinels. The center of the room held a row of seats, like in waiting rooms everywhere, fastened together to make a sort of bench. The far, file-cabinet-free wall had glass windows in the top half, covered with a heavy white curtain on the other side of the glass, and a video monitor on a swing arm attached above that.

Jackson pulled the monitor lower. "Ready?"

No. But he wouldn't be any readier later. Eli glanced at Marilyn. She'd turned partially away from the TV. Holding his hand, she stared resolutely at the file cabinets past his opposite shoulder. She'd be okay. He took a deep breath and nodded.

The TV clicked and hummed when Jackson turned it on. Eli took another deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them again and looked.

The monitor showed the upper half of a woman's body. She was naked, but Eli scarcely noticed, his attention captured by the lurid ruin of her face. She'd been beaten. To death.

Shattered bones destroyed every recognizable landmark of her face. The red, purple and black lividity of the injuries made her look even less human, but Eli knew. Whether this was Teresa or not, Flash had done it. As a message to him.

He doubled over and threw up. All over Jackson's polished wingtips. He'd seen stuff as bad before, but not anybody he might have cared about.

"What--?" Marilyn's hand settled on his back. "Oh, my God."

Oh, shit. She looked. She had to have. He'd have given anything to keep that from her. Eli straightened, looking for something to wipe his mouth.

"You son of a bitch." Marilyn lit into the detective as she rummaged in her purse, bringing out a tissue for Eli. "You sick son of a bitch. You did that on purpose, didn't you?