Ginna Gray Fatal Flaw

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Calmly, and as matter-of-factly as possible, Casey explained to Mark that his niece had begun her
monthly cycles and she was embarrassed to tell him or her fa-ther. By the time she finished, Mark s jaw
hung agape.
Jennifer? Our little Jennifer? But that can t be. She s just a child.
She s thirteen.
Barely. Her birthday was just last month.
Granted, she may be a little young, but it happens to some girls a lot younger than that. You should
know.
Mark raked his hand through his hair and paced the small foyer. I don t understand. Why didn t she tell
me? I m a doctor, for Pete s sake.
- I suggested that, but apparently she thinks of you as an uncle first. And a male. And she s thirteen.
That s an extremely sensitive and self-conscious time for a girl. At that age, as much as I love him and as
close as we are, I would have been mortified to tell my father some-thing like that.
I can t believe it, Mark said mournfully. Our lit-tle Jennifer is growing up. Matt is losing his baby girl.
Casey looked heavenward. Men and their daughters. No wonder Jennifer wanted me to tell you.
Aw, hell. Now I have to tell Matt. He s going to be crushed.
Poor babies. Casey patted Mark s arm. Don t worry. You ll live through it.
So how are we supposed to handle this? Do we make some casual remark to let her know that we
know? Do we pretend we don t know? What do you suggest?
1 think it would be best if I let her know that I told you. Then, if she wants to discuss the matter with
you or her father, it s up to her.
However, I do think she needs some guidance from an older woman. How about, when you re at my
folks
place for the Fourth of July, my mother and Francis and I have a talk with her?
Oh, sweetheart, that would be great. He put his arms around her again and smiled into her eyes.
You re going to be good for her. And me.
Chapter Sixteen
Look at victim number one s ankle through a mag-nifying glass.
Reaching across the desk, Dennis took the crime-scene photo from Casey and did as she asked. It s a
tat-too. So?
Isn t that the insignia of that biker gang that call themselves the Barbarians? The ones that hang out at
that dive out on the Grand Junction Highway?
I know the place you re talking about. Skinny s, isn t it? Dennis took a closer look. I think you re
right. That is their insignia.
Which means she must have been part of the gang at some point. Casey mulled that over, tapping her
forefinger against her pursed lips. She stood up and shrugged into her blazer. I m going to check with
the rest of the team to see how they re coming along fol-lowing up on the tips, then you and I are going
to check out Skinny s. Someone there may know something about Selma Hettinger.
Dennis groaned and held his head with both hands.
You want to go to a dive and question a bunch of motorcycle-gang lowlifes?
Do you have a better suggestion? Sheriff Crawford was in here Monday throwing a hissy fit. He
threatened to go over everyone s head and hold another press con-ference. Tuesday, two commissioners
paid the boss a visit, and yesterday the mayor was here. He s taking all kinds of sniper fire over these
cases. And to top it all off, the media is in a feeding frenzy. If we don t come up with a viable lead soon,
the brass and the politicians are going to nail all our hides to the barn door.
I know, I know. Dennis raked both hands through his hair. I just hate to get you anywhere near those
guys. They re always looking for an excuse to fight. You walking into that bar is tantamount to throwing a
lit match into a gunpowder factory.
Hey. Are you saying I start trouble?
No, Tiger. Lumbering up out of his chair, Dennis clamped his large hand around the back of Casey s
neck and steered her toward the conference room door. You just finish it.
An hour later Casey parked the police car on a remote dirt road south of Mears, across from a
run-down mo-bile home.
The buckled vinyl siding on the trailer had come loose in places, most of the windows were cracked and
held together with duct tape, and rust coated the bare wheels a bright orange.
Weeds grew up around the base of both the dwelling and the derelict pickup that sat on cinder blocks
next to it. The dilapidated wooden steps leading up to the small porch and front door leaned dangerously
to one side.
Rusty auto parts, scrap lumber, a roll of chicken wire, several plastic buckets, empty beer cans and
bottles and various other junk littered the semi-cleared area that passed for a yard surrounding the mobile
home.
On the dirt trail leading up to the place, a man stood bent over a motorcycle, tinkering with the engine.
He looked to be over six feet tall and at least three hundred pounds. A rubber band held his stringy hair
in a pony-tail, and he had fastened two more bands around his chest-length beard, presumably to keep it
from getting caught in the engine of the bike.
He wore no shirt, merely a leather vest and faded, dirty jeans that rode so low on his hips they were in
dan-ger of exposing much more of the man s backside than Casey cared to see. The enormous beer
belly that hung over the top of his pants in front was covered with tat-toos and hair, as were his beefy
arms.
Another man, this one tall and skinny and just as grungy-looking, leaned against the side of the trailer,
watching and swilling beer from a bottle.
Charming place, Dennis muttered.
Mmm. One of that pair has to be our man.
Wanna bet it s the big guy?
Are you kidding? With a moniker like Attila? No way.
Fortunately, at that hour, customers had been scarce at Skinny s Tavern when Casey and Dennis
arrived. The bartender had not been a model of public-spirited co-operation at first not until Casey had
threatened him with inspections from the liquor-licensing people and the board of health.
Reluctantly, he had then told them that Selma Het-tinger had been the old lady of the Barbarians
leader, a biker by the name of Attila, and that the couple had been together in the bar the night of
Selma s murder and had gotten into a fight. After a bit more persuasion on Casey s part, the barkeep
had supplied them with the lo-cation of Attila s mobile home.
Well, there s no time like the present, Casey said, reaching for the door handle. Let s go see what
Billy Bob Badass has to say.
As Casey and her partner climbed from the car and headed up the dirt driveway, the skinny man
abandoned his lounging position against the trailer and nudged his friend. Looking around, the big man
straightened and squinted at Casey and Dennis, wiping his hands on a rag.
Are you Attila? Casey asked as they drew near.
Who wants to know?
Both Casey and Dennis pulled out their badges and showed them. Mears Police. I m Detective
O Toole. This is my partner, Detective Shannon. If you re Attila, we d like to ask you a few questions.
The man snorted. Beat it. I don t talk to pigs. He turned back to his motorcycle and started tinkering
again as though they weren t there.
The skinny man snickered and resumed his slouched position against the end of the mobile home. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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