Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) Read Free Page B

talk to a man who had broken her heart, dumped her and run off with a blond.
     
    Three little dots. Any good cases?
     
    Unreal. All he wanted to do was talk about work. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but settled on: Same old.
     
    If you need any help just let me know. I’m always here.
     
    So you’ve already said , she whispered between gritted teeth. The conversation was going nowhere. Feel like using the phone?
     
    Better this way. More private.
     
    She imagined a blond in his apartment fumbling with the zipper on a tight blue dress, felt the familiar prickle of jealousy and began to chew herself out.
     
    We could text?
     
    So many questions. So little time.
     
    She wanted to tell him to stop messing about, to be serious. Instead she settled on : Why can’t we talk on the phone?
     
    It’s too late for that.
     
    Too late for what? Three little dots blinked, only this time WingMan faded to a blur and signed off. Not even a goodbye. Probably still mad that’s what. Mad that she had once been an escort on a well-known website in her younger years to pay off a student loan, mad she wasn’t cheap and slutty like he’d hoped.
    She knew a thing or two about computers, knew her way around the chat rooms, the dating sites. So what was he doing on there anyway? Surveillance? All that talking on the computer made her body feel cold.
    The phone rattled on the table beside her and scooted to the floor. She stared at it for a moment and decided to let it go to voicemail. Five seconds later, it rang again. She had an uneasy, nagging feeling and this time she picked it up.
    “Might want to get down here, Marl,” Detective Temeke said. “Twelve-year-old boy’s gone missing and his dad’s taken a bullet. The Mayor’s residence. Big yellow house on Riverfront drive. Can’t bloody miss it.”

FOUR
     
    Detective Temeke wiped a hand over his bald head and took a deep breath. He checked his watch against the mantel clock. Eleven thirty-six. He took one last look around the Mayor’s living room, smelling the tart scent of cedar in the hearth and imagining flames leaping up a deep throated chimney. There was only a faint glow in the ashes now.
    Deep-buttoned couches smelled of expensive leather and there was a hint of furniture polish in the air. White shelves lined with books, dark gray walls, hardwood floors, Persian carpets you could sink your toes in. The room was large enough to hangar a Zeppelin.
    A shattered window revealed a small hole in the mid right-hand section and the outside security cameras had been covered in duct tape; blinded by the look of it. A thorough job, not an inside job if his gut was working right.
    He had worked for long enough in criminal investigations to realize several things. First, there was never a usual suspect and second, keep working your witnesses. Mayor Bill Oliver was a private man, preferring to spend his evenings alone in his study. And tonight was no exception. There were no witnesses.
    Instead, Temeke stared at a recent picture on the grand piano; Oliver’s son, green eyes under a fringe of artfully messed hair, sallow skin and a cheeky face. Twelve years old, about five feet tall, and he had hung up on the police less than an hour ago.
    Temeke stood at the edge of the room and nodded at a field investigator by the piano. “Hand me that photo will you?”
    He also requested a picture of Adam’s mother. He would need both where he was going.
    “No forced entry,” the field investigator confirmed. “Except a length of rope over the back wall. Looks like he came in through the back door.”
    “Why do you say he ? Could have been her , could have been them .”
    “Only one set of footprints in the driveway, another set in the rose bed, sir. Lug design, probably a hunting boot. Size eleven, same size as mine. Found a few threads near the gate post where someone had hacked a hole in the hedge. Pale fibers, lining of a ski jacket possibly. We didn’t find