A Beautiful Corpse

‘Yeah. He’s real upset about Wilson,’ Bonnie said. ‘Says there’s no way it was him, but the cops won’t listen. I told him he should talk to you. I gave him your number. I hope that was okay.’

Harper could have kissed her.

She’d dropped the hottest interview in town right in her lap.

When she hung up the phone, Harper climbed to her feet.

It had been twelve hours since the last time she ate anything more substantial than a candy bar. Her stomach felt hollow.

Shoving her scanner and phone into her bag, she headed across the empty newsroom.

Baxter was at her desk, typing furiously, her face creased with concentration. Dells had finally gone home a couple of hours ago.

‘I’m going to grab some food,’ Harper announced. ‘It’s gone quiet.’

‘Could you keep your phone on, for a change?’ Baxter’s tone was peevish. ‘I will personally fire you if I can’t reach you.’

‘You sweet talker,’ Harper said, heading out the door.

There was no point in arguing. They both knew Harper would keep everything turned on tonight.

The guard glanced at her without interest as she pushed the button that unlocked the double glass doors and stepped into the dark street.

Outside, the muggy evening air hit her like a warm, soft fist. Even this late, it wasn’t cool. Night merely took the edge off the heat.

The streets were quiet at last. The air carried the faint syncopation of music from one of the River Street bars, which were filled at this hour with people whose nights involved something other than murder.

Harper had parked her ageing red Camaro in front of the newspaper building, and the engine started with a pleasing rumble. The car had nearly a hundred and thirty thousand miles on the meter but Harper kept it in mint condition.

She loved only a few things in this world and her car was one of them.

As she drove, she kept the window down, hoping the fresh air would revive her. The scanner propped in a holder on the dash buzzed and crackled with a constant stream of information. Her mind sorted through the noise for anything about Wilson Shepherd.

After years of listening to it non-stop, the codes used by the police were second nature to her.

‘Unit 498.’ A voice said.

The dispatcher replied after a second. ‘Unit 498, go ahead.’

‘Unit 498, I’m at the Code 5 on Veterans.’

Code 5 – car accident, Harper translated to herself.

‘Everybody’s pretty shook up,’ the cop said, in a deep southern drawl. ‘Better send a Code 10 to check them out.’

Code 10 was an ambulance, and Harper honed in on his voice for a minute. But he never came back to ask for backup.

She was hungry and tired, and she wasn’t about to go out to a wreck where everyone was shaken up. She needed more than that.

‘Death and destruction,’ she murmured to herself, as she pulled the car into the parking lot at Eddie’s 24-Hour Diner. ‘I don’t get out of bed for less.’

When she walked in the door, a bell jangled merrily but nobody could hear it above the Everly Brothers blasting from the stereo.

Eddie’s was a retro diner, with vinyl and chrome booths, and waitresses with perky ponytails wearing high-collared blouses and tight jeans.

Harper signaled to one, who bounded up to her, dark hair swishing.

‘Can I get you a table?’

Her bright eyes skimmed Harper’s face, and took on a sympathetic glint. It occurred to Harper that she must look like hell. Her hair hadn’t been brushed since she left the house this morning.

The waitress was young – her scarlet lipstick annoyingly perfect.

She had no idea yet how hard a day could be.

‘I need food to go,’ Harper told her. ‘A turkey sandwich, no mayo, and fries. And the biggest coffee you’ve got, as black as you can make it.’

‘You got it.’ Pulling a pen from behind her ear, the girl scribbled the order down.

‘Take a seat,’ she chirped. ‘I’ll get it out to you in a jiffy.’

When she’d disappeared into the kitchen, Harper sat on a padded bench by the door.

The restaurant was mostly empty. The music played loudly for no one.

The bench wasn’t that comfortable but, at this stage, she could have slept in the middle of the highway in rush hour. She leaned back against the wall, her eyelids drooping. Even her hands seemed to have weight.

Feeling herself drifting, she jerked upright.

Busy. She needed to stay busy.

Pulling her scanner out of her bag, she plugged her earbuds in, turning it loud enough to hear it over the music.

The usual chatter filled her head and she forced herself to listen. She was half-asleep when a female voice said, ‘Unit 364.’

‘Unit 364 go ahead,’ came the crisp voice of the dispatcher.

‘Signal 25 in the 34000 block of Abercorn Street. I’ve got a white Ford pickup, stand by for the license.’

Signal 25, Harper thought, distantly, her eyes drifting shut. Traffic stop.

Other voices came and went. Then, without warning, the female officer’s voice returned, breathless and high-pitched, words pouring out.

‘I need backup on Abercorn Street. Send them fast. I’ve got the River Street shooting suspect in a white Toyota pickup truck. He’s got a gun.’

Chapter Six (#ulink_82f5ac72-a839-58bb-8684-0c90f5e47454)

Harper jumped to her feet.