Will hadn't
heard him making his way through the forest. "Detective Fierro?"
Will guessed.
He flashed the light into his own face so Will could see him. "Call
me Asshole, because that's what you're gonna be thinking about me
the whole lonely way back to Atlanta."
Will was still crouched down. He glanced toward the crime scene.
"Why not let me have a peek first?"
The light was back in Will's eyes. Fierro said, "Persistent little
fucker, aren't you?"
"You think she was dropped here, but she wasn't."
"You're a mind reader?"
"You've got an APB for all suspicious cars in the area and you've
got your crime-scene guys going over that Buick with a sieve."
"The APB is a code 10-38, which you'd know if you were a real
cop, and the closest house to here is an old geezer in a wheelchair
about two miles up." Fierro said this with a disdain that was more
than familiar to Will. "I'm not gonna have this conversation with
you, pal. Leave my scene."
"I saw what was done to her," Will pressed. "She wasn't put in a
car and dropped. She was bleeding from everywhere. Whoever did
this is smart. He wouldn't put her in a car. He wouldn't risk the trace
evidence. He sure as hell wouldn't leave her alive."
"Two options." Fierro held up his pudgy fingers and counted
them off for Will. "Leave on your own two feet or leave on your
back."
Will stood up, straightening his shoulders so that he was standing
at his full six-three. Pointedly, he looked down at Fierro. "Let's try to
work this out. I'm here to help."
"I don't need your help, Gomez. Now I suggest you turn around,
get back in your little girl car and go gentle into that good night. You
wanna know what happens here? Read a newspaper."
"I think you mean Lurch," Will corrected. "Gomez was the father."
Fierro's brow wrinkled.
"Look, the victim—Anna—probably lay down here." Will
pointed to the depression in the leaves. "She heard the cars coming,
and she walked onto the road to get help." Fierro didn't stop him, so
he continued, "I've got a canine unit on the way. The trail is still fresh
now, but it'll be gone with the rain." As if on cue, lightning flashed,
followed closely by a clap of thunder.
Fierro stepped closer. "You're not hearing me, Gomez ." He thrust
the butt of his flashlight into Will's chest, physically pushing him
away from the crime scene. He kept doing this as he spoke, punctuating
each word with a sharp jab. "Get your fucking GBI, three-piece
fucking undertaker ass back in your little red toy car and get the fuck off my—"
Will's heel struck something solid. Both men heard it, and both
men stopped.
Fierro opened his mouth, but Will indicated he should keep quiet,
slowly kneeling down to the ground. Will used his hands to brush
away some leaves and found the outline of a large square of plywood.
Two big rocks framed the corner, marking the spot.
There was a faint sound in the air, almost a crackling. Will knelt
down farther and the noise turned into a few muffled words. Fierro
heard it, too. He drew his gun, keeping the flashlight alongside
the muzzle so he could see what he was going to shoot. Suddenly, the
detective no longer appeared to mind Will's presence; instead, he
seemed to be encouraging Will to be the one pulling back the sheet of
plywood and putting his face in the line of fire.
When Will looked up at him, Fierro shrugged, as if to say, "You
wanted on the case."
Will had been in court all day. His gun was at home in the drawer
by his bed. Fierro either had a large goiter on his ankle or he was carrying
a backup piece. The man didn't offer the gun and Will didn't
ask for it. He would need both hands if he was going to pull back the
plywood and get out of the way in a timely manner. Will sucked in
his breath as he moved the rocks, then dug his fingers carefully into
the soft ground, getting a good grip on the edge of the board. It was
standard size, roughly four-by-eight, and half an inch thick. The
wood
heard him making his way through the forest. "Detective Fierro?"
Will guessed.
He flashed the light into his own face so Will could see him. "Call
me Asshole, because that's what you're gonna be thinking about me
the whole lonely way back to Atlanta."
Will was still crouched down. He glanced toward the crime scene.
"Why not let me have a peek first?"
The light was back in Will's eyes. Fierro said, "Persistent little
fucker, aren't you?"
"You think she was dropped here, but she wasn't."
"You're a mind reader?"
"You've got an APB for all suspicious cars in the area and you've
got your crime-scene guys going over that Buick with a sieve."
"The APB is a code 10-38, which you'd know if you were a real
cop, and the closest house to here is an old geezer in a wheelchair
about two miles up." Fierro said this with a disdain that was more
than familiar to Will. "I'm not gonna have this conversation with
you, pal. Leave my scene."
"I saw what was done to her," Will pressed. "She wasn't put in a
car and dropped. She was bleeding from everywhere. Whoever did
this is smart. He wouldn't put her in a car. He wouldn't risk the trace
evidence. He sure as hell wouldn't leave her alive."
"Two options." Fierro held up his pudgy fingers and counted
them off for Will. "Leave on your own two feet or leave on your
back."
Will stood up, straightening his shoulders so that he was standing
at his full six-three. Pointedly, he looked down at Fierro. "Let's try to
work this out. I'm here to help."
"I don't need your help, Gomez. Now I suggest you turn around,
get back in your little girl car and go gentle into that good night. You
wanna know what happens here? Read a newspaper."
"I think you mean Lurch," Will corrected. "Gomez was the father."
Fierro's brow wrinkled.
"Look, the victim—Anna—probably lay down here." Will
pointed to the depression in the leaves. "She heard the cars coming,
and she walked onto the road to get help." Fierro didn't stop him, so
he continued, "I've got a canine unit on the way. The trail is still fresh
now, but it'll be gone with the rain." As if on cue, lightning flashed,
followed closely by a clap of thunder.
Fierro stepped closer. "You're not hearing me, Gomez ." He thrust
the butt of his flashlight into Will's chest, physically pushing him
away from the crime scene. He kept doing this as he spoke, punctuating
each word with a sharp jab. "Get your fucking GBI, three-piece
fucking undertaker ass back in your little red toy car and get the fuck off my—"
Will's heel struck something solid. Both men heard it, and both
men stopped.
Fierro opened his mouth, but Will indicated he should keep quiet,
slowly kneeling down to the ground. Will used his hands to brush
away some leaves and found the outline of a large square of plywood.
Two big rocks framed the corner, marking the spot.
There was a faint sound in the air, almost a crackling. Will knelt
down farther and the noise turned into a few muffled words. Fierro
heard it, too. He drew his gun, keeping the flashlight alongside
the muzzle so he could see what he was going to shoot. Suddenly, the
detective no longer appeared to mind Will's presence; instead, he
seemed to be encouraging Will to be the one pulling back the sheet of
plywood and putting his face in the line of fire.
When Will looked up at him, Fierro shrugged, as if to say, "You
wanted on the case."
Will had been in court all day. His gun was at home in the drawer
by his bed. Fierro either had a large goiter on his ankle or he was carrying
a backup piece. The man didn't offer the gun and Will didn't
ask for it. He would need both hands if he was going to pull back the
plywood and get out of the way in a timely manner. Will sucked in
his breath as he moved the rocks, then dug his fingers carefully into
the soft ground, getting a good grip on the edge of the board. It was
standard size, roughly four-by-eight, and half an inch thick. The
wood
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