Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s hard. It still is for me.” This time, Delaney kept a respectful distance. “You won’t see a full report for another few days, but it’s pretty obvious what happened. Someone shot and stabbed those men and dumped their bodies in the river. At least two someones, maybe more, although there’s no way we’ll know until we get ballistics and all that. We didn’t recover any shell casings last night where we found the bodies, but I think it’s worth a second look. No guns in the trailer, either, but that doesn’t mean anything. Those fibers we recovered from their clothes might match the burlap in the kitchen, we’ll see. Then there are those radios . . . My guess is they were muling drugs across the river, and somehow crossed the wrong people.”
“I’ll need the photographs of the faces. To see if Eddy Rabbit’s girlfriend recognizes them, or he does.”
“I’ll make sure you get those.” Delaney hesitated. “And if you want my official opinion about the report, or want to talk about the results or anything, just call me.” He fished around in his wallet and found a card, gave it to her. As she read it, he raised his hands. “Promise, all business. The state prints those things out. I don’t get a chance to use them too often. No one ever seems to want them. Not many repeat customers.” Another one of his bad jokes.
“Gracias. I do appreciate your help.”
“No problemo . . . and that’s the only Spanish I know.”
“That’s not even real Spanish,” she said, but did so with a smile. She was beginning to appreciate Delaney’s quiet competence and horrible sense of humor. He’d called it “gallows humor,” and although she didn’t know the English phrase, she understood well enough. Delaney’s attitude reminded her—painfully—of Ben Harper. She would never ask, but she wondered about Delaney’s wife, or if he had children. What were they doing on a sunny morning like this?
He took a deep breath, like he was clearing his head of his own thoughts. Maybe he’d been reading hers from a moment before, because he reached into his coat pocket and took out a crumpled pack of Marlboros and a blue plastic lighter. He lit one, offering it to her first, but after a long pause she shook her head.
“I knew you were smart,” he said, drawing hard and then blowing smoke skyward. “These things will kill you.”