The Seventh Victim Read Free Page A

not seen his desk in three weeks, but he welcomed the waiting chaos.
    “Sounds good, Sergeant.”
    Beck turned back toward the road and caught sight of the big rig. The massive black cab hauled a trailer loaded with lumber. “You said a trucker called in this murder?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He still in his rig?”
    “Yep, and getting more pissed by the minute. He’s squawking about schedules.”
    “Let me talk to him.” Beck moved toward the truck cab and knocked on the driver’s-side door window. No one was in the cab, but these big rigs came with a rear sleep compartment. Beck’s grandfather, Henry Beck, had been a long-haul trucker in his younger days before opening his garage and often said that during his trucking days, he’d have traded a year’s worth of steak and sex for a solid twelve hours of sleep.
    Beck pounded his fist on the side of the cab. Finally, a gruff, “Just a damn minute.”
    Beck stepped back, squinting north over the median into the oncoming interstate traffic, now moving slower and slower as motorists tried to glimpse the crime scene. Soon there’d be a hell of a backup on I-35.
    After some shuffling, cussing, and more shuffling the cab door opened and a tall bear of a man appeared. He wore jeans, a Dallas Cowboys black T-shirt, and a belt buckle shaped like Texas. He grabbed his hat from the cab, smoothing back thick gray hair before settling the cap on his head. “You here to tell me I can go?”
    “In just a minute or two. Right now I’d like a rundown.”
    The trucker pulled a can of dip from his back pocket and tucked a pinch of tobacco in his cheek. “I already told the other cops.”
    Beck shoved aside irritation. “And I do appreciate that. I do. But mind running it by me one more time, Mister ... ?”
    “Raynor. Billie Raynor.”
    He pulled a small notebook and pen from his back pocket. “You’re from?”
    “El Paso.”
    “So how’d you find the body? Can’t be seen from the road.”
    “’Cause I had to pee like a damn race horse. Fucking prostate. Thought I could make it to the next stop but was about to bust so I pulled over. Figured I’d drain the well and get back on the road. Then I saw the buzzards flying overhead. I couldn’t see what they saw, but thought I’d take a look. Twenty steps and I saw her. At first I thought she might be sick or asleep, but as I got closer I saw the flies.” He shuddered. “Looked like she was covered in wax.”
    “Did you see anything or anyone else?”
    “No. Just the woman and the buzzards.” He jabbed his thumb toward his cab. “Hightailed it back here and called the cops.”
    “Appreciate that.”
    He spit. “Enough to let me get going? That damn deputy has held me up for two hours.”
    “I suppose you should be grateful he’s not hauling you to the station for questioning.”
    The trucker’s gaze hardened. “Why the hell would you do that?”
    Beck grinned. “Killers have called in their own work before.”
    “Well, not me.” He lifted his hat and smoothed his palm over his damp brow before replacing it. “Shit. I should have just kept driving.”
    “You drive all over the state?”
    “Sure, I do. What of it?”
    “Been down to San Antonio lately?”

Chapter 2
    Monday, May 20, 10 AM
     
    Beck got caught in the tangle of northbound traffic into Austin and arrived at the office an hour later than he’d have liked. He passed through the main lobby and paused at reception to show his badge.
    A middle-aged woman with ink black hair, a barrel-shaped body, and thick-rimmed glasses grinned up at Beck. “Well, look what the damned cat dragged in.”
    He removed his hat, grinning. “Susie. You’re looking mighty fine today.”
    A hint of color rose in her cheeks. “Glad to have you back, baby doll.”
    “Glad to be back, darlin’.” He’d never admit to Susie or another soul alive how much he’d missed the job.
    “So what you been doing with yourself these last weeks?”
    “Stirring up trouble. Stirring