Ded Reckoning Read Free Page B

touch anything out here."  Then adds, "That goes for you too, Mrs. Columbo."
    Both raise their arms indicating they heard the directive.
    Dee whispers to Hunter, "Did you hear what he muttered first?"
    "No."
    "Good.  I don't like him."
    "I do.  Good man.  Saved my life, twice."
    "I like that man.  Did I tell you that?"
    Hunter enters his house, shaking his head, with Dee grasping his hand.  Magpie follows making herself at home.
    While the jousting between Bradovich, Hunter and Dee has been transpiring, others have gone about their duties.  The firemen have extinguished the flames.  They and ambulance responders are working gingerly to free Samantha's torso hung on the car door and in the split-rail fence.  Others do the same with her remains in the car.  Firemen still lay on foam in spots.  Police officers are taping off the crime scene and controlling the neighborhood onlookers. Some of the latter are already dressed for the beach; some are in their golf outfits; some in shorts and sloganeer T-shirts; and some housewives in robes with an assortment of peanut butter, jelly and egg stains.  This group has been joined by the usual school of piranha, the press. Noisy and nosy and gaining volume.
    As Bradovich turns away from Hunter and Dee and surveys the scene on the street, he's  confronted by one of his cohorts from the detective department.  The plainclothesman announces, "Found him.  Or it.  Dead.  Messed up real bad.  Must of been a helluva fall.  Seen less damage from jumpers."
    "What'd ya mean?"
    "The guy is banged up real bad.  Neck's more or less pruned.  Face is smashed up...like someone that's been in the ring with Rocky Marciano.  Got a wallet.  Empty."  Using his fingers to tick off each item, he recounts the items found strewn along the slope.  He adds, "And a new Walther and lot of cash for a guy wearin' a cheap suit.  Worse than mine."  He laughs at his humor.  Pointing to his partner he adds, "Steve's lookin' for the car down in one of the parking lots below."  He pauses again, head tilted to one side.
    Bradovich mumbles, "And?"
    "The ME needs to see this guy, Brad.  Here.  Where he lays.  Somethin's not right."
    "Okay.  Got it.  Get some cops down there to help and get it marked off.  And get some people scouring this mesa area.  Follow those wires," as he points to them lying on the pavement, near the barricade.  This is at the least a car bombing. Possibly a helluva lot more."  Bradovich shuffles and kicks the air, "Ah, shit.  Nam was easier.  Just the guys in black pajamas."  Then shrugs, mutters, "And pith-helmets later.  Tough little bastards."
    The detective stares motionless.  Waits.  Then gives a "thumbs up" and responds, "On it.  And, oh yeah, we found an electric detonator on the slope. A little further down."
    "Electric detonator?  Sure, why the fuck not.  Shit."  Shakes his head.  "I thought I left this crap behind."  Bradovich, shakes his head, shouts, "I'll be up here for a while, then in the house.  That one," he points to Hunter's white stucco house with the pale yellow trim.  All the houses in this neighborhood are stucco.  Different pastels, different colored trim, and all have a red brick fireplace on one side.  All the backyards have six-foot wooden fences.  He turns, walks over to the coroner who is working with the firemen on the torso on the split-rail fence.  It and the remainder in the car are burned beyond recognition.  Bradovich can tell the car was a two-door and the remains, a woman. Nothing pretty or sleek about either now.  He tells the coroner about the "perp" at the bottom of the hill, adding, "That body is more important than this one."  He adds soulfully, "That one at the bottom is the doer.  This one is the...the...the done one... or the do-ee."  He takes in a breath, gags a bit.  The stench