Over Tumbled Graves Read Free

on the filthy jeans and black T-shirt, when he let his hair out of its tight ponytail and pulled the loaded pack onto his shoulders. She supposed that was the biggest difference between herself and the other Special Investigations detectives. They loved dressing up, going undercover, fooling people. They liked the change in themselves.
    She had thought she would like it too, although after two years in property crimes, anything had sounded more interesting than chasing down stolen car stereos. But she was simply wired differently than Gerraghty. Drug detectives were as sneaky and duplicitous as the desperate junkies they hounded; it was the reason more than a few lapsed into drug use themselves. Caroline could manage desperate, but she didn’t like the sneakiness, the pretending. More to the point, she didn’t like whatever might be the truth behind the pretending. The baby, for instance: She’d bought the doll for her niece in San Francisco and found the stroller in the property room. Caroline knew it was a bad cover, that it would have an emotional hitch that could distract her from what she was supposed to do. She had figured it would only be an internal ache, though, not this public slapstick.
    Below her, on the steps, the baby stroller sat with its wheels pointed out, like a kid waiting to be scolded. Caroline gave it a nudge with her foot and the carriage turned over and spilled outonto the steps, the doll falling out for the second time today, this time coming up short of the river.
    “Do I arrest you for littering or child abuse?”
    Caroline turned slowly at the sound of his voice and squinted into the sun, which silhouetted Dupree in a way that made Caroline marvel at his impeccable sense of bad timing. “Hello, Sergeant Dupree.”
    He stepped out of the sun and sat on the steps next to her, unable to contain his smile. It was especially jarring, that smile. He was so thin and wiry, his face was so angular, so vertical, that when he smiled, all those anxious, down-turned lines stopped and softened and his lagoon-blue eyes leaped out and she found herself wishing for things she didn’t believe she really wanted.
    “Go ahead,” she said. “I know you’ve got something to say. Or didn’t you hear?”
    “Oh, I heard. It’s probably in the guild newsletter by now. Pollard wet his pants when he heard.”
    “Oh, good. That makes it all worthwhile,” Caroline said, “providing some entertainment for the lazy asses in Major Crimes.”
    He leaned forward and looked at her over the rims of his small rectangular glasses. “You know,” he said, “only crazy people blame themselves for stuff like this. Guys who talk to themselves. People with Christ complexes.”
    “I’m not blaming myself. I just feel stupid.”
    “Yeah? You should. It was stupid.” He leaned back and stared out at the still river in front of them. “So forget it.” She glanced up at his profile, knowing that he was aware of her watching him. He had been her first patrol shift supervisor, in David Sector, downtown. Six years earlier, he’d been the first one on the scene the only time she ever fired her gun, when she reported to a domestic and shot and killed a man who was attempting to carve up his wife. There was a shooting review and Caroline had been cleared of any wrong-doing, but she had taken it hard anyway and might even have quit if it hadn’t been for Alan Dupree. Personally, his effect on her made her angry and unsettled because of the irrationality of her attraction. He had an awkward ropiness, was sinewy and balding, like an old movie cowhand. He was flippant in a way that irritated other cops and horrified civilians. He was constantly making inappropriate jokes to cover his anxiety. He didn’t know when to just be quiet. And there were plenty of other reasons that she shouldn’t be attracted to him. He had the tiniest damn feet. She had never trusted men with small feet. And he was married. There was that, too.
    “What