Cold City Streets Read Free

one side, its sides open to the elements and a vehicle draped in winter. Past it, a row of trees separated the street’s southern extreme from a steep ravine that dropped off into the river valley.
    “The last house? The grey-and-white one?” His partner stood at the house next door to the one in question, talking to a woman on its porch.
    The homeowner lowered his voice even though he was under his own roof. “I don’t really want to get involved…”
    “Mr. Martin… if you have something to share that you think I need to know…”
    It looked for the barest moment as if he reviewed his options, going over a mental checklist of some sort. Then he said quietly, “Everyone knows that the guy who lives there is a drug dealer. There’s constant traffic going in and out all the time. Everyone hates that he’s here.”
    “Yeah? Lots of interesting customers?”
    “Oh yeah, for sure.”
    “They all have wheels? You ever see anyone just wandering up to his house?”
    The man frowned. “No. No, I don’t think so. They pretty much all park outside.”
    Not a crack or meth dealer, then , as those customers live close. Probably weed, maybe steroids. He got the homeowner’s contact details and cautioned him they might have to call upon him again, or ask him to give a formal statement.
    “You think that’ll help?” the man asked.
    “I should find out, eh?” Carver proposed. “I’m going to head on over there.”

2
    Carver crossed the street as quickly as the slush would allow, hands jammed into the pockets of his top coat. His shiny black Oxfords were covered in rubber overshoes, but he tried to lift his feet enough to ensure the mess wouldn’t dampen his socks.
    If they played this right, he figured, it was possible both detectives could be off shift on time, at six, if a little luck rolled their way. He glanced briefly over at the techs crouched by the victim and quickly crossed himself, conscious again of the gravity of the moment.
    Mariner headed towards the house and saw his partner approaching. He stopped at the top of the front path, the home’s front yard like the others, the snow a foot deep at least after several days of bad weather. “What’s up?”
    “Caller puts the shooting potentially around midnight and a half-hour before he called it in. Figure twenty outside on the first response, so fifty minutes minimum from time of death, assuming it happened here. Conservative take? I’d say slightly more than an hour.”
    “The way it’s been coming down, no wonder they can’t find shit. He say anything else?”
    “Looks like we’ve got a drug house at the bottom of the street. You think that’s a coincidence?”
    Mariner didn’t answer. There were all sorts of problems with making assumptions; he knew that. But Carver was Carver and he had an arrest record every detective envied. He was a closer and was going to check it out either way. Mariner wasn’t certain he was always right, but Carver got rid of red names on the big board, even if he could be an arrogant bastard.
    They approached the house; Mariner noticed a snow-covered sedan in the open-side car port, which had proven no match for the blowing conditions. The path to the front door was flanked by eight-inch ice walls, carved by a snow shovel’s edge. Carver waved at the constable down the street, gesturing for him to come over. A few moments later, he’d joined them. “There’s a gate on the side; head around back,” Carver told him. “Make sure we don’t have any runners.”
    Carver waited until the constable had time to get into position then knocked on the door.
    Nothing.
    He knocked again then said loudly, “Police! Anyone home?” He glanced sideways towards the front window; a lamp suddenly went out. “Someone’s pretending they didn’t hear us.”
    Mariner made a sniffing motion, scrunching up his nose. “You smell marijuana, partner?”
    Carver smiled. At least it was genuine this time; he’d had other partners with