Black Water Read Free

still just a little past five in the morning. Two white males—early-to-mid-thirties, plus or minus five. There's a streetlight at the intersection, but it's weak "See faces?"
    "Very briefly, sir. Passenger was dark-haired, bearded, big face, thick black glasses—you know, I mean the frame part was black and thick. What I thought was, heavy. The driver was blond, and I thought businessman. I mean, these were instant impressions, sir, just. . . flashes. But they both looked unusual."
"How?" Merci asked.
Dobbs ignored her and spoke only to Zamorra.
"Unusual facial structures."
"What do you mean?" Zamorra asked.
"You know, like when you're down in Laguna on the boardwalk and you can spot the tourists from other countries? Just the faces, you know, the way they formulate. I read in a magazine it's from the facial muscles used to pronounce different languages. You know, like a French face looks different from an American one because their face muscles help make different sounds."
"So, they were French?" asked Zamorra, with a small smile.
Dobbs chuckled. "I couldn't say, sir."
"Take a guess," said Merci.
"I wouldn't guess with so little information," Dobbs said, finally looking at her. "That would be pointless."
Merci felt the blast of anger go through her. After thirty-seven years of trying to stop it she still couldn't, but she'd learned to put her anger into thoughts that could contain it. And sometimes amuse her. What she thought about Dobbs and his condescending arrogance was give him the guillotine.
"Since you're big on points, Dobbs, what was the point of parking your car in the driveway of a homicide scene and letting everybody else do the same?"
Merci felt ashamed at harping on this but she had to say something and that was what came out. It was her nature to grab and not let go. If Dobbs disliked her for what she'd done, that was even more reason for him to suck it up, get along, do the job. In her opinion, anyway.
"Look, Sergeant Rayborn," said Crowder. "I'll take the blame for that. I thought about the concrete and figured this was another report that would come down to firecrackers or an engine backfire. I should have said something. I just let him park where he wanted. By the time we found what we found, the backup and medics were here. We were in the bathroom."
    "I understand that," she said.
    She walked around the quaint little breakfast table and stood in front of Dobbs, got up close and looked straight into his eyes. She saw the uncertainty there and enjoyed it.
    "I might have parked there, too," she said. "I don't care about the driveway. The driveway is history. What I care about is you treating your fellow cops with respect, instead of something stuck to the bottom of your boot. It's still us and them , Deputy. If you don't like me, fine. If you don't like what I did, fine. But keep it to yourself and we'll be able to do our jobs better. You saw Gwen and Archie. I think we've got bigger things to worry about than our own opinions of each other. What do you think, Deputy?"
    "Right, Sergeant," said Dobbs.
    Merci heard a somewhat reduced hostility in the man. It was the best she could expect. In the year since her actions had publicly torn apart the department she loved, Merci had basically shut up. She'd taken the oath and told the truth. After that she had little left to say, and no one in particular to say it to. And she'd found that silence confuses the enemy.
    But when it came to this, a subordinate officer trying to belittle her in front of fellow professionals, well, this was stomping time. It had happened before. In the last year she'd learned that confrontations were like haircuts—there were good ones and bad ones but none of them changed the essential truth. And the essential truth was that there were many people on the force who would never approve of what she' done, never forget and never forgive.
    So if the man piped down even just a little, it was good enough
    "Thank you," she said.
    "I'm pissed