Senseless by Mary Burton Page B

generally sold their information for less than one hundred bucks. As his old man used to say, if you’re going to get off the porch, you best be ready to play with the big dogs.
    “Go away,” Garrison said.
    Donovan saw the detective’s irritation as a good sign. Cops got irritated when they had secrets to hide. “Can’t you just answer a few questions for me? Come on, guys. Maybe sometime I could do you a favor in return.”
    “No.”
    “How many people died?”
    “My office will be issuing a press release later today. ”
    “No sneak peek?”
    “Nope.”
    Donovan pushed his hands in his pockets. “So I hear this place was some kind of halfway house. You talk to the director yet?”
    “Let us do our jobs, Donovan.” Garrison and Kier turned and moved away.
    “A little birdie told me the victim was mutilated. Did it happen postmortem?” He could have mentioned the old case he’d written about but the idea of helping Garrison irritated him.
    That stopped both detectives. Garrison turned, unable to maintain even a pretense of good humor.
    Bingo.
    As Garrison moved toward him, Donovan pictured a prizefighter stripping off his gloves. “That birdie got a name?”
    Reflex almost drove him back a step. “Can’t say. You know I have to protect my sources.”
    Garrison leveled a gaze designed to intimidate. His size added to the fear factor and Donovan struggled for calm.
    “I’m right about the mutilation, aren’t I?” Donovan pushed.
    “Someone is jerking your chain, Donovan. Go find a real story.”
    His instincts kicked into overdrive. A story simmered below the surface. A huge story. “I’ve found one hell of a story.”
    Garrison’s and Kier’s stances radiated pure fury.
    Donovan possessed enough smarts to know when to cut his losses. Garrison, unlike his partner, kept a tight rein on his temper, but Kier’s temper had gained a reputation as explosive. “You’ll call me if you find out anything?”
    Garrison winked. “Sure thing, sport. Consider yourself on my speed dial.”
    “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, Detective.”
    “I never claimed to be smart.” Menace threaded around the words.
    Donovan swallowed a smile, not anxious to go head to head with Garrison just yet. He moved toward his car, his mind ticking with the things he needed to do as he slid behind the wheel. He pushed in the car lighter.
    Why dump a body here? And why the fire? Some might say coincidence linked the two stories. Fat chance. One way or another, they fit.
    The lighter popped and he pressed the hot tip to the end of a cigarette. Tobacco embers glowed and smoke rose before he replaced the lighter.
    Donovan puffed his cigarette and then flipped open his cell phone. He dialed and had to wait only two rings.
    “What the fuck do you want, Donovan?” The gruff voice was thick with anger.
    Caller ID was not his friend. “I need for you to find someone for me.”
    “Who?”
    “Eva Rayburn.”
    “You going to pay on time? ”
    “I swear.”
    Silence followed and then the guy shoved out a breath. “Give me what you have.”
    Donovan grinned and gave the private investigator the particulars.
    “Might take time.”
    “I don’t care what rock you have to dig under, but find her.”
    “You have a last known address?”
    “Virginia Penitentiary. ”
    “How long has she been out?”
    “A year, maybe less.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter 4
    Tuesday, April 4, 7:00 A.M.
    Angie Carlson’s stomach tumbled with nausea the instant her eyes opened. She lay on her back and stared at the white ceiling of her bedroom as she counted to ten and drew in slow deep breaths. Cautiously, she raised her head as if handling antique crystal. Immediately, her temples pounded and her stomach lurched violently. Collapsing back against the pillow, she muttered a curse. Too many glasses of wine with her TV dinner last night had knocked her out cold. Now fully awake, she really regretted the number of drinks she’d downed.