Casting Bones Read Free

tourists straining to see the grizzly scene just yards from where they stood. Yellow crime scene tape wrapped the area and uniformed officers faced the growing throng, waiting for a reporter to attempt an end run.
    Archer bent down, rubber gloves on, and gently rolled the body, running his hands over the man’s rear pockets. He pulled out a wallet. Opening it, he glanced at the driver’s license. Then he pulled open the soaked wallet pocket where the deceased kept his money.
    â€˜Wasn’t a robbery.’
    â€˜No?’
    Separating the wet bills, Archer said, ‘Must be a couple hundred bucks.’
    Strand glanced at the bills.
    â€˜Not that anyone would miss the money much now. You know what I’m saying?’ Strand studied Quentin Archer for a moment.
    Archer frowned. He still didn’t know Strand that well.
    â€˜Hey, it’s a joke, OK? Money stays where it is. Well, someone must have gotten something out of it. Look at this. Shot right through his eye.’
    They studied the wound, a round hole bored through the right socket.
    â€˜Wasn’t the water after all.’
    Archer shook his head. ‘Do you know a David Lerner?’
    â€˜Judge David Lerner?’ Strand rose from his kneeling position and brushed at his trousers.
    â€˜I’m new in town. You tell me.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know of him. Works in the juvie section. Tough guy. Kids don’t want to go before him. They usually get a long sentence.’
    â€˜Kids won’t have to worry anymore.’
    He palmed the driver’s license, handing it to Strand.
    â€˜Jesus. Somebody’s kid didn’t like his sentence.’
    â€˜It would appear.’
    Archer reached into the man’s inside jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Studying it for a moment, he handed it to Davis, another detective, who was standing nearby.
    â€˜Davis, have lab pull the SIM card and use discovery software on the computer. See if we can retrieve contacts, calls … you know the drill.’
    â€˜A judge.’ Strand looked out at the water, shaking his head. ‘That’s gonna stink up the place. And we had to draw lead on this one. There’s gonna be some serious pressure on this case.’
    A department photographer snapped pictures, walking around the body taking close-ups and long shots from every angle possible. A young lady from NOPD with a video camera was filming the entire event. Photos and video often helped when you stumbled on the scene of a crime. In this case Archer knew that this wasn’t the scene of the crime. Could have happened anywhere.
    â€˜Detective,’ the photographer called to Archer, ‘check this out.’ He pointed to the right arm, a gold bracelet dangling from the wrist.
    â€˜A judge with a tattoo?’
    â€˜We see the tattoos every day, just not on people like a judge. And a snake? I would bet a lot of people consider a judge as low as a snake.’
    Archer nodded. He filed it away for future consideration.
    An ambulance drove up slowly, giving the crowd a blast of its siren to move them along. No rush. The damage had already been done.
    â€˜Welcome to the Big Easy, Q.’ Strand and Archer watched the attendants hoist the gray body bag onto a stretcher. ‘Let’s see what a Michigan cop can teach us Louisiana boys.’
    And just for a moment, Quentin Archer shuddered, staring at the bag covering the swollen body of a high-ranking judge. Fighting back the nausea he felt, his eyes clouded over. The pallid corpse seemed to have an aura, a faint shimmering light that emanated from within, shining through the vinyl. Just for a brief moment. He closed his eyes to block the vision. Like he’d tried to block the vision of his wife, after a Detroit driver hit her on a sidewalk then sped off.
    That was a sensation he had hoped would never happen again. Archer put his palm to his forehead, searching for a fever. He was light-headed, a little warm and