Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

was over – the ME pronounced that the man on the table had died from gunshot trauma to the head.

Inflicted from a distance of at least eight feet.

In short, he hadn’t pulled the trigger.

A secondary shot, fired at point blank range, was responsible for the powder residue on the man’s fingers.

And speaking of fingers – boy wasn’t this fun? – it turned out that the dead man’s fingerprints had been removed with a razor.  All except for a partial thumbprint.  The thumbprint might give them just enough to be able to run the man through AFIS, but it would make the search both longer and less conclusive.

“Do you think the partial print was an oversight or left intentionally?” Josh asked Clay as he and the agents left the morgue.

Clay sighed and pushed his sunglasses onto his nose, squinting against the bright noonday heat. “The perp is in a state of flux right now, which unfortunately makes either possibility viable.  He’s been pushed to a point where he’s lost some control, which could definitely make him prone to sloppy mistakes.  However, the way he set up his accomplice yesterday also leads me to believe he may have reached a stage where he’s become much more interested in game playing.  His relationship with the albino, his business with the girls, fed a need in him to assert his own dominance.  Now that the other man is dead and his business has been threatened, that need may have been transferred to this new battle with the authorities.  He’s no longer content to escape and evade, but might challenge and attempt to outwit.  It’ll make him more dangerous, because he’ll be less careful in his behavior, but it will also make him easier to draw out.  We get proactive, possibly challenge his competence or intelligence, and he’ll be bound and determined to prove us wrong.”

“So you don’t think he’s already bought a one way ticket to South America?”

“Gut instinct – I’d have to say no.  If he left that print on purpose, then logic would dictate that he knows his accomplice’s fingerprints are on record, and he’s going to want to be here to see us scramble around, trying to match it.  He wants us to figure out his accomplice’s identity, but he doesn’t want it to happen too soon.  So he’s probably planning on being in the area for at least the next little while.”

“So we get to work on this print.”

“And organize a canvass of the area near the Collier crime scene,” Kim reminded him.

“There are a lot of farms near those woods,” Josh said.  “Several abandoned farm houses.”

“Which would make a perfect, out-of-the-way location to hold the girls until they deliver them.”  Kim took her own sunglasses out of her pocket.  Then she made a small noise of disgust.  “Given the limited size of your force, Deputy Harding, we may want to consider calling in a couple of local agents.  We can’t risk any of your untrained volunteers stumbling across an armed, dangerous and mentally unstable felon.”

“Okay.”  Josh knew she was loath to have a truckload of feds coming in here, steamrolling his department’s investigation.  But at this point, with other lives at risk, jurisdictional issues were of little importance.  “Make whatever calls you think you need to.  But most of the farmers out that way will be much more free and easy with information if it’s a local doing the asking.”

“Understood.  Let’s head back to the station and pull up a map of the area, mark it off into quadrants.  The areas that seem the most feasible for our man’s hideout, we’ll pair local and federal agents.  Then we’ll work our way out from there.”

“Well, boys and girls.”  Clay hit the remote to unlock his vehicle.  “Let’s get this show on the road.”

THE Goliath bird-eating spider was a hit.

Rogan calculated that this was his and Max’s third or fourth trip to the aquarium, so the fish, alligators, and various indigenous Lowcountry wildlife were pretty much old hat.  But the visiting Creatures of the Amazon exhibit held Max’s enrapt attention for over an hour.

They’d seen piranhas, an anaconda, a couple funky looking birds, and some kind of blind rodent.

And a really huge spider.

With hair on all of its eight dinner-plate width legs.

And way too many eyes.  All of them looking at him.

Rogan wasn’t particularly a fan.

In fact, after seeing the arachnid that was big enough to take down a parrot, he decided to cross Amazon off his list of Fun Places to Visit.

“So,” he said to Max, hoping to ease the kid toward the exit.  “How ‘bout taking another look at those jellyfish?  Or maybe see if we can work our way into a spot at the Touch Pool?  Those nurse sharks looked pretty cool.”

“Okay.”

Rogan tried not to go limp with relief.

Opting for the touch pool, which was really no big surprise, Rogan took hold of Max’s hand and they began to make their way toward the escalator.  They weaved around sunburned children and harried parents, chatting along the way.

“So,” he said again, very casually, because Max was a perceptive kid. “Your mom seems to like that FBI agent.”

“His name is Clay.”

“Right,” Rogan agreed.  “Clay.  Your mom seems to really like him.”

“I guess so.”  Max shrugged, in the way of five-year-olds.  “They kiss and stuff, when they think I’m not looking.”

“And how do you feel about that?  Clay kissing your mom?”

Max stopped to check out a flounder.  “He asked me, and I said it was okay.  Why do you think he has two eyes on one side of his head?”

“Uh…”

It took Rogan a moment to realize they were now discussing the fish, rather than the man.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, leaning closer to the glass.  “I guess that’s just the way nature designed him.”  The flounder, tired of the speculation, swam off toward the other side of the tank.  “Um, Clay said he’s going to be hanging around some.  Are you feeling okay with that?”

Max stopped watching the fish, and