…or at least the bragging news….
My latest Peter Hunt novel, Missing, is out, and it can be had here.
It was well toward dusk when I got to the end of the dirt road; I walked on down to the beach. Some crime scene spots were lighting up the area, and there was Miller, face down in the pebbly sand, a small, dark splotch under his head and another one under his chest. Lt. Jankuwicz was there, still the sharp dressed man in a dark, double-breasted gabardine trench coat, unbuttoned and the belt hanging loose from its loops, a dark suit, and dark ankle boots appropriate for the beach. Cold or no cold, always cool. Gonzo was Gonzo: cargo pants and a fake fur-lined leather jacket.
Crime scene and a couple of forensics folks were doing their tricks with the scene and the body, which was starting to bloat. The forensics team was the same one I’d worked with before when Rick’s apartment had gotten tossed and Jennifer Clark had gotten herself murdered. The one was a babe with a carefully tailored uniform. Her assistant was a slump-shouldered, balding man with round rimless glasses.
Jankuwicz was standing a short distance from Miller’s head where he could look along the length of the body. And look over the whole scene, taking it all in. Gonzo told me Forensics Babe had told him Miller had been dead for a while. The bloating implied a time frame, and the cold messed with the time frame. She’d need him on her table to get a good estimate. Then Gonzo had to do it.
“Want to look at the body?” he said.
I looked at him. “No,” I said. “But maybe I ought.”
Someone had iced a colleague of sorts of another someone who’d tried to ice Hunt. And that was just half the story. The other half involved the weak father of a missing college boy whose younger brother was involved with a group of high school street racers, one of whom drove a car used for smuggling small, high value items.