The Last King of Texas - Rick Riordan Read Free Page A

doing?"
    "I can talk," I promised.
    DeLeon ignored me. The paramedic told her I'd be fine
with some painkillers and a few stitches and some rest. DeLeon did
not look overjoyed.
    Lieutenant Hernandez stepped forward. "Navarre."
    His handshake delivered about sixty pounds per square
inch into my knuckles.
    Hernandez was a small oily man, hair like molded
aluminum sheeting. He did his clothes shopping in the Sears boys'
department and his wide brown tie hung down over his zipper. Despite
his compact size, the lieutenant had a reputation for hardness
matched only by that same quality in his hair.
    He released my mangled hand. "Detective DeLeon
tells me you dunked the bomb. She says you did all right."
    DeLeon was scribbling something on her notepad. When
she noticed me looking at her, her thin black eyebrows crept up a
quarter inch, her expression giving me a defiant What?
    "Detective DeLeon is too generous with her
praise," I told Hernandez.
    The big Anglo guy snorted.
    Hernandez shot him a warning look. "DeLeon also
tells me you're considering the teaching position. May I ask why?"
    A sudden pain ripped through my jaw. The EMT told me
to hold still. He dabbed some bandages onto my cheek. The sensation
was warm and numb and far away.
    When I could move my mouth again I said, "Maybe
I resent being blown up."
    Hernandez nodded. "But of course you're not
under any impression that taking this job might afford you a chance
at payback."
    "Teaching well is the best revenge."
    A smile flicked in the corner of Hernandez's mouth.
The Anglo guy behind him studied me like he was mentally placing me
in a bowl with the rottweilers and pouring milk on me.
    "Besides," I continued, "I was assured
the case was already in good hands."
    DeLeon's eyes met mine, cool and level. You almost
couldn't tell she'd just been through an explosion. Her makeup had
been perfectly reapplied, her hair reformed into severe black wedges,
not a glossy strand out of place. The only visible damage to her
ensemble was a two-inch triangular slit ripped in the shoulder of her
pearl-gray blazer.
    "This incident changes nothing, Mr. Navarre."
    The big Anglo said, "Should fucking well change
who's in charge."
    Hernandez turned toward him and held up one finger,
like he was going to tap the big guy on the chin.
    "We are in charge, Kelsey. We as in a team. We
as in — you got problems with the way I make duty assignments, file
a complaint. In the meantime" — he waved at DeLeon —
"whatever she says."
    DeLeon didn't skip a beat. "Get with Special
Agent Jacobs. Cooperate — whatever she wants on the bombing. Help
canvass, get statements from everybody who's handled packages on
campus, negative statements from everybody who hasn't. I want timing
on the delivery of the package correlated to the time of the
shooting. I also want statements from every student in every class
Brandon has taught this semester."
    Kelsey grunted. "The Feds'll take a pass. You
know goddamn well—"
    Hernandez said, "Kelsey."
    "So I'm just supposed to piddle with busywork
while we let that scumbag Sanchez sit out there?"
    "Kelsey," Hernandez repeated.
    Kelsey's eyes were locked on DeLeon's.
    Lieutenant Hernandez's voice broke in as soft and
sharp as asbestos. "Are you capable of acting as secondary on
this case, Detective?"
    After three very long seconds, Kelsey reached into
his shirt pocket, took out a ballpoint pen, held it up for DeLeon to
see, and clicked it. Then he turned and left.
    "One big happy," I noted.
    Hernandez's aluminum hair glittered as he turned
toward me. "While I'm in charge, Navarre, you can depend on it.
You need to speak to anyone concerning the Brandon homicide, you will
speak to Detective DeLeon. My advice, however — teach your classes,
stay safe, and stay out of her way."
    "Two pigeons and a lot of fine essays died in
that blast."
    Hernandez sighed. "Let's do a story, Navarre.
Let's talk about a time one of my top people advised me to — say —
de-prioritize a