Bad Blood Read Free Page A

on. I’m getting to that.” Lieutenant Elam flipped another page. “If you look closely, Gib, you’ll see that the car has Jersey plates. It floated here to Manhattan from Jersey, which is where the murders must’ve occurred, which makes this an interstate crime, which, as you know, makes this all yours, Gib.” Elam puthis thumb and forefinger over his eyes and laughed with his shoulders.
    â€œYou check the water inside the engine? Can you prove it’s Jersey water?”
    The lieutenant just shrugged. Not my job, man.
    â€œAll right, I’m here now,” Gibbons said. “I may as well solve this one for you. Where are the bodies now?”
    Elam’s grin suddenly disappeared at the mention of the bodies. The ME did the preliminaries and took them to the morgue a little while ago.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œNot pretty.” Elam exhaled deeply and looked down at his notes for a moment before he went on. “The victims were a male and a female. Both Asian. Exact cause of death is unknown at this time.” Elam looked up from the clipboard. “But if you saw them, it wouldn’t be too hard to guess.”
    Gibbons squinted at Elam. “What do you mean?”
    Elam scratched his ear. “They were practically cut in half. Right through the middle. They weren’t hacked, though. You know, the way a guy does it when he wants to stuff his wife in garbage bags and put her out with the trash. These cuts were different. They were . . . well, neater than that.”
    Gibbons tried to imagine what he was talking about and all he could think of was the big roasts in the meat case at ShopRite. “What do you mean, ‘neater’?”
    â€œFrom what I saw, it looked like the killer actually tried to cut the victims in half. The gash on the male was on the left side. It cut right through the spine. The female’s was on the right. Not quite as deep, but almost. The guys from the morgue had a hell of a time keeping them together when they moved them out of the car. The ME told me he wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few organs missing. Lost in the water. That’s how big these cuts were. But like I said, the weird thing is that they’re very neat, precise cuts, Gib. No indication of sawing or chopping that I could see. Slices, I’d call them. I’ve never seen wounds like these on a body before. Clean, deep slices.”
    Gibbons took off his glasses and waited for his stomach to settle down. He could taste his lunch—brisket. “Slices, huh? You telling me I should go check out every cold-cut slicer in Jersey?”
    Elam shook his head slowly. “You are one hard ass, aren’t you? This kind of shit doesn’t affect you anymore. You seen it all before, right?”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do? Pull out my handkerchief and cry a little? Sympathy for the victim wasn’t part of the job description when I joined the Bureau. I feel sorry on my own time. My job is to find the bastards who do this kind of shit so they can’t do it again. Okay?” A rock-hard band of pain circled his gut. Bastard.
    Elam stood up, stuck his hand in his pocket, and just looked at the veteran special agent. “They don’t make ’em like you anymore . . . thank God.”
    Gibbons scowled. “Don’t try to butter me up, Elam. You already dumped this case on us. It’s not your headache anymore. Be happy.”
    â€œI’d love to see your annual job evaluation. What does your boss put under ‘Attitude?’ Peachy?”
    Gibbons didn’t bother answering. He stared at the orange Volkswagen hanging from that cable like the big one that didn’t get away, trying to imagine what kind of weapon or device could make those “slices,” wondering what kind of sick mind could do something like this, wondering why the hell a killer would bother doing something difficult when all he wanted to do was just