“We’ve got the prints back.” Elliot banished the serenity with practiced ease.
Carlisle
looked up from her computer — fucking thing — and gave her partner a
stare. “Prints? From what? The meticulously clean van? Or from
inside the bar with the ten thousand other prints? No — you’ve got good
news, I can see it from your face. Something from the shotgun?”
Elliot’s
smirk was almost unholy. “You work too hard. Maybe you should just
take the rest of the day off. Shoot some pool. You’re clearly not made
out for the long hours of real police work.” He had a manila file,
CONFIDENTIAL in faded red ink blocked out in capitals on the front. He
tapped on it with a finger. “Leave this one to us.”
“You’re just sore you lost the bet.”
“I didn’t lose the bet. It’s just been… deferred.”
“Deferred
my ass.” The murderer had been meticulous enough to stack the bodies
in a single location, but had left two things out of place. One, a body
impaled on an elephant — sans head — and two, a severed hand. The body
had printed easily, ex-military records describing a man better off
dead. Sealed file, no name, but the memo from Defence had described an
SAS officer deployed into Afghanistan, then dishonourably discharged.
The only thing longer than the crimes against noncombatants was the list
of heroic missions. The memo had politely suggested they contact
Ebonlake Associates, a private security contractor known to pay good
rates for men with moral flexibility.
It was on her to-do list.
No,
the bet was all about the hand. Elliot thought it had simply been
misplaced, that they’d find a matching right hand, or maybe an arm.
Carlisle didn’t think so — the killer was too particular. Forensics had
done a pretty good job of assembling near complete cadavers from the
remains, only a few pieces still out of place. Smart money was on the
hand belonging to someone who got away.
So
far Carlisle was in the lead. The hand hadn’t matched any of the
bodies. Sure, it was possible that it was all that remained of someone,
but the killer hadn’t seemed to take trophies. Complete corpses
remained, albeit disassembled. It wasn’t conclusive, but it wasn’t
looking good for Elliot.
“Prints
from the hand on the sidewalk. Valentine Everard, works in computers.
Haven’t been able to track down his boss yet. Everard’s on file — we
got him for DUI a couple years back.” Elliot flipped a page in the
file. “Here it is. Vehicular homicide.”
“Let
me guess. He’s not turned up at the hospital yet?” They’d thrown up
nothing but dead ends at the ER when they called from the scene, the
staff harried and unhelpful. Yes, they were sure that they’d have
noticed someone coming in without a hand. Of course they’d call if
something turned up.
“Nada.” If anything, the smirk grew wider. “So why’s a guy missing his left hand not turn up to the ER?”
Carlisle
turned off her screen, grabbing her jacket from where it hung in a
crumpled mess over the back of her chair. “The only reason I wouldn’t
go to the hospital is if I’d just killed twenty guys.” One arm through
her jacket sleeve, she scrabbled around the clutter on her desk for a
notebook. “What I don’t get is why you’re so happy. This is only going
to prove that I’ve won the bet.”
Elliot
nodded. “I just took your view, opened an office pool. I might lose
to you, but I’m going to win against — so far — five other fine
detectives.”
“Even if you lose, you win?”
“Yep.”
Valentine’s
an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an
alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too
early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything.
What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is
Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested
in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster,
and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the
criminally insane Russian, Volk?
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy
Rating – R16
More details about the author
Website http://www.rage.net.nz
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