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Nothing more and yet this seems to satisfy him. One missing college kid to cutting off heads. Damn good service over the years. This one sounds like a long shot. Three so far and Capitol Hill is shitting itself after dark. This kind of thing is bad for the nerves and it brings headlines that induce panic. None of which is helpful when the weird man is still loose. He wants to be noticed. Jarvis is animated as he drives.
His hands dive around cutting up the air and making the case. Greene always wonders what Jarvis would have been had he not been a cop. The kid grew up dirt poor in a building that came fitted with a toe tag. Everywhere he went and everywhere he looked, dealers hung out. For Jarvis to have overcome that stuff, Greene sometimes thinks his talents are wasted.
This is a regular exchange. Growing up amongst people looking the other way so hard that they broke their necks, Jarvis has attended some church. He has attended a lot of church. Truth be told, he has attended more out of respect for his maternal Grandmother than anything else. Faith is a big word. Not one that Jarvis throws around and on any given day he can be anywhere on the spectrum of belief. Greene has to prod the scab. They had slipped into this routine at some forgotten stage of their partnership.
They have been paired for three years now. All of it homicide. They have seen enough body outlines, body bags, bullet casings and ruined corpses to know when to ask and when to shut the hell up. Much of their time is tough, lots of it routine and they have formed the kind of trust that men with guns and badges tend to forge. When they speak about the job, Jarvis calls his partner Greene. When they discuss general shit, he is Ed. Ed calls Jarvis by his last name the entire time.
Ed is the kind of man, probably rolls into his own lounge at the end of a shift and addresses his own wife as Greene. It suits Jarvis too. He has the misfortune of sharing his name with a father who forgot who the hell he was when he was three years old. They pull the car up in front of a Seven Eleven.
Thing that size, takes a lot of food. He unfolds himself in creaking stages and heads into the relative shade of the store. The clerk is reading. He is a forty-ish moustache with a propensity to spread softly at the middle. He glances up from his paper. Now what you say we stop making eyes at one another and you get me one of those baguettes and a strong coffee?
Most of the time, Greene takes this kind of shit with a weary indifference. He passed the six foot stage so long ago; his voice had still been hitting the high notes, his balls nestling in a single bag. The clerk furnishes him with the required items and money changes hands. Greene likes to do his shopping in places where none of the souls gathered within know he is a cop.
Since blending in can be a problem, no good reason can be attached to wearing a target. The clerk fails to register any reaction across his face and Greene leaves it. Experience has shown him that people are often unsure of how to take his sense of humour. Back in the car, Jarvis seems elsewhere.
He takes a coffee and offers up a pleasant church boy thanks but his mind has left the scene. Flexibility is important in an opening question. Jarvis has heard this question a lot and has elected not to play. The psycho gave some other poor bastard a haircut. Jarvis engages the gear shift and pulls away. A white van cuts in and blares a complaint. Can you not feel it, Greene? Like it or not. Mr By-the-book police procedure, paragraph eight, sub-section six?
Man I hate lawyers. Maybe we should sponsor someone to pick those assholes off. Welcome to the party, Jarvis. Ed Greene sits in the den and drinks beer and watches sports and drinks some more beer. Connie is visiting with a friend and the kids are off in their private corners of the house, doing their own thing. He mulls over disconnected fragments of details that pull at his gut wire. Sometimes, you have to chew a thing through before it tastes right. And sometimes you have to know when to let go and let it work on you in the dark. This head guy, man. He has the whole force and half of the city wondering on his next move.
Cases like this can make or kill a career. Greene has seen it before. Greene and his colleagues are not forced to go looking. Greene wants no part of any glory. His transfer request to a desk job has been pending so long; he thinks the Captain may have wiped his crack on it. Let Jarvis and his school play the tough guy games. All Greene is after now is the slow lane to a pension. An Arctic Thriller M. Sep 6, , 9: Pollifax Bk 1 in the series - set in Albania and Mexico A.
Grant - The Jaguar: Mila Bulic - Chile Pepper: Bogran - Firefall set in Dallas, U.
S and Honduras M. Buchman - One Chef! Exploring Expedition Jack L. Pender series - set on the fictional island of St. Caribbean island of Kayakoo in the lesser Antilles G. Munkeby - Back to the Island: East Wind in Paradise Douglas J. Worthington Murphy - The Moira set in the 18th c. Monahan - The Navigator's Treasure: Campbell - The Scent of Nutmeg: Murder in the Caribbean set on St. Hale - Adrift on St. Pender series set on the fictional island of Saint Luke which is a based on various islands in the U. Fitzpatrick - Caribbean Addiction set on Tortola J.
A Detective's Story Leland L. Fielder - The Adventures of J. Leger - Hallowe'en Ahoy!
Kaye - Death in Kenya Death in. Niger Freida Fail - Ace Deuce: Christopher Odijie - Eye of a Needle: Some Day in the Summer Time Kaye - Death in Zanzibar Death in. Brewer - The Silla Project M. Dagley - The Women of Cho: Heart and Seoul Bk 2 Det. Cale Dixon - set in the San Franciso and S. Richard Lord editor - Crime Scene Asia: Shankar - Tiger Isle: Kaye - Death in the Andamans Death in. Sanuh set in Borneo and by a native author Amir Falique - B. Asia Frederick Highland - Ghost Eater: Dead Man's Story fictionalised account of a real life crime concerning gold mining - set in Toronto and Kalimantan William H.
Lovejoy - Flash Factor set on an oil rig offshore Brunei D. Medina - White Crocodile Christopher G. Sometimes your past won't let you go set in Cambodia and Nevada Steven W.
The Secret Notebooks of John H. Stephen Brodsky - The Dikhelis Sign: Kaye - Death in Kashmir Death in. Lambert - White Powder: Parker - Islands David F. Kelly - Death of a Friend T. Hard Labour as Editor: A Island territory Mariana Islands: Micronesia Sherry Dixon - Natural Destiny fiction about war crimes is probably not technically crime fiction but I thought it was worth listing for historical relevance N.
Jarrett series Tom Butler - John. Joe Race - The Mystery Hotel: Come for a Rest Micronesia Louis Becke - The Mutineer: Melvin Leavasa - Detective Tan: Wallis and Futuna - France Polynesia?????? Boje Willow Rose - One, Two Persson - Johansson and Jarnebring inc sub-series: Staes - The Bruges Tapestry historical mystery set in present day California and 16th c. Robert Janes - St. Grazzi - murder on the night train from Marseilles to Paris Martin R.
Auguste Dupin trilogy E. Stephen Brodsky - The Lame King: Kaye - Death in Berlin Death in. Agatha Christie - The Mysterious Mr. Lloyds - The Mystery in Monte Carlo: Morris - Porfiry Petrovich series Thomas C.
Clio Challis - Murder in Atlantis: Stephen Brodsky - The Kali Pact: Kaye - Death in Cyprus Death in. Revenge or Honor Philip Wooderson - Acropolis: Ann Crew - A Murder in Malta: Turney - The Ottoman Cycle series set in the 15th c. Carpenter - Fires of Alexandria mystery surrounding the burning of the Library of Alexandria in the 1st c. A Deadly Tragedy Edward J. The elevator rises but stops somewhere around my neck.
The top floor is empty. The horse races under the name Doublegone. From the twin combination of alcohol and pills. When that thing moves, I can feel its breath. When it twitches, I imagine a whole network of muscles moving in sync beneath the smooth surface of his flanks.
Doublegone and me make plenty of noise and try and untangle our awkward confusion. All thoughts of Lizzie and Ralph have left the scene. This is about keeping this horse from spooking itself into a murder. Tommy already has a list of contenders after his scalp. Even by the standards of the circles I move around, Tommy has angles enough to die in his sleep at thirty two.
We live in a state of perpetual hope where Tommy is concerned. Tommy says they can probably manage to get me in the cab as Lizzie is no longer up front. She met her fin tail fancy ass car at the rendezvous spot. No-one worries about the bottle of champagne she guzzled at the races. She will drive back to Ralph and blow his horn like nothing ever happened. I follow Tommy and his snake-doing-a-shit-walk up to the cab.
The interior light shows up Jimmy, leaning slightly forwards, brow creased. He was a real thoroughbred about it all. Even with the love potion and booze to mellow my soul, I want to skewer his heart. Passing lights illuminate his face now and then, shadows win out at this stage of the day. The soft brush strokes of orange and yellow will come later, for now the early rising fingers of daylight are the colour of ice and the association causes me to shiver. Tommy smart mouths and brags his way through a succession of this pussy and that pussy.
What, when and how he said this or that to. Who he did this and that to. Maybe Tommy has a function for Jimmy that I know nothing about. The small hours pass this way, Tommy talks. Jimmy sometimes laughs or cuts in. Tommy refills the tumblers, I brood. Tommy has a long history of bending cars when he drinks hard. He has pretty much laid off the drink today. This has given him a thirst that he seems enthusiastic to exploit.
Once we enter the third hour of this, he has mercifully talked himself into a stupor. I hope his dreams are bad ones. Like we are here to talk about golf. Me and Ralph are competitors. This from the guy who likes Tommy. How the hell do you like the guy? The thing about Ralph. Ralph is someway and then some older than Lizzie.
Straight off, you got to hate a guy who manages to pound a stunning woman, twenty years younger than he is. He wears Ray ban shades, all of the time. Second of all, you got to hate a guy who wears Ray ban shades all of the time. Ralph is funny, smart and apart from the Lizzie thing, pretty down to earth for a guy who owns a fifth of Jersey. Making the move to Ralph would be like business expansion. I have no evidence for sure on the matter but my gut tells me that guys like Ralph, they tend not to be scared of moving obstacles out of the way.
At least, I think he does. He drags an open palm down his face, stretching the thing out and moving it around a little. The face, not the hand. I look at him and wonder what is behind the question. Is this a suspicion or is he just curious? Jimmy kicks this around awhile. Like a grimace lacking conviction, his expression is short lived. Sometimes, I think I should quit mixing the pills and the booze. When I wake up it is to the sound of dead horses. The words reach me all at once, dragging me by the heels from dreamland but they only seep through one at a time, waiting quietly for the rest to arrive.
When they are all lined up and I can think about them, I realise that Jimmy has been telling me that Doublegone has been shot through the brain. Knowing that I fed Doublegone the dancing candy, I wonder if he got all mixed up and shot himself. I arrive at the scene in the barn, detached and still buzzing on bourbon.