3 Time to Steele Read Free Page B

Gen-er-ator!”
    The young man flipped the lever. The air before us crackled, sparkled, and hissed, and with a resounding pop, a bolt of lightning materialized out of thin air, convulsing and pulsating but contained between the two metal plates in the air. A gasp erupted from the crowd, interspersed with countless ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and followed by a thunderous crash of applause.
    For once, Shay looked as slack-jawed as everyone else in attendance.
    I, however, had maintained full control over my facial muscles. “Well, it’s cool, I’ll give them that. But unlike the engine, I’m not sure what use it’ll be to anyone—unless someone plans on starting a tree-splitting service using it.”
    Steele picked her jaw up off the ground before answering. “Your problem is that you don’t have any vision. And before you crack any jokes about my psychic ability, yes, I can envision numerous applications for such a device.”
    “Such as?”
    “Well, for starters—” My partner raised a finger, but before she could respond, the crowd parted behind us, spitting out a familiar blond-haired, blue-eyed, smooth-cheeked face. For once, it didn’t carry with it a perfect, white-toothed smile.
    “Rodgers,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
    Gordon Rodgers adjusted his coat and snorted. “Taking in the sights, what do you think, Daggers? I’ve been searching for the two of you for the past hour. If you weren’t up on this hill, I’d never have found you.”
    Rodgers wasn’t as ardently opposed to aerobic exercise as I was, but I couldn’t imagine he’d tramped all over the fairgrounds for his health. I deduced the obvious. “There’s been a murder?”
    “Your deductive abilities are unparalleled, old chum,” he said. “Come on. Quinto’s already on the scene.”
     

3
    Rodgers led us to an apartment building on Height Street—a fairly new, tan brick structure in a city where ‘fairly new’ generally meant anything octogenarians couldn’t remember existing in their spoon-fed years. Based on the first floor windows and the richly furnished lobby, I guessed the dead person’s abode would be on the nicer side of the housing spectrum, and as I slid past a bluecoat standing guard at the door of the second-story apartment, I found I wasn’t mistaken.
    A pair of matching beige upholstered sofas shared the middle of a living room with a wide, rectangular ottoman while a mahogany coffee table sat over to the side, lonely and forgotten. The room’s shutters had been thrown open, allowing light to flood into the room and glide over a broad writing desk, a round eat-in table, and a quartet of chairs. A couple of technicians from the precinct hovered over the desk and table, dusting the hard surfaces for prints.
    “Seems pretty idyllic.” I walked in and ran my hand across the top of the padded couch. “You sure this is the right place?”
    “The body’s in the bedroom,” said Rodgers. “It’s not quite as idyllic in there.”
    A shadow filled a portion of my vision, and I heard a familiar rumbling, gravely voice. “Not so much. Although it is more colorful. You know, because of the blood.”
    Detective Quinto, Rodgers’ partner, filled a doorframe at my right. At six foot three and over two century-notes, not many people dwarfed me, but Quinto did by a good four inches and at least a hundred pounds. As if his size wasn’t distinctive enough, his mismatched buckteeth, buzz cut, and grayish skin—a byproduct of his alleged half-troll heritage—really rounded out the package. Despite his intimidating appearance, the guy had a good head on his shoulders, and he was a bit of a teddy bear at heart—unless you insulted his mother.
    “Hey Quinto,” I said. “I didn’t see you over there.”
    The big guy smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”
    “So, Quinto,” said Steele, “based on your comment, I’m guessing this one’s messy.”
    “It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” said Quinto. “But