Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,1
free education. They were obsessed with duty and honor, all that shit they’d seen on TV and been fed by the recruiters who plucked them out of high school like ripe cherries. They had been promised technical training and home-side base assignments, anything that would get them to sign on the dotted line. Most of them ended up being shipped off on the first transport plane to the desert, where they got shot before they could put their helmets on.
Ted Greer came out of the building, tugging at his tie like he needed air. The lieutenant was pasty for a black man, spending most of his time behind his desk basking in the fluorescent lights as he waited for his retirement to kick in.
He saw Michael still sitting in the car and scowled. “You working tonight or just out for a drive?”
Michael took his time getting out, sliding the key out of the ignition just as the halftime commentary started on the radio. The evening was warm for February, and the air-conditioning units people had stuck in their windows buzzed like bees around a hive.
Greer barked at Collier, “You got something to do?”
Collier had the sense to leave, tucking his chin to his chest like he’d been popped on the nose.
“Fucking mess,” Greer told Michael. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Some kind of sick perv got ahold of her.”
Michael had heard as much when he’d gotten the call that pulled him off his living-room couch. “Where is she?”
“Six flights up.” Greer folded the handkerchief into a neat square and tucked it into his pocket. “We traced the nine-one-one call to that phone.” He pointed across the street.
Michael stared at the phone booth, a relic of the past. Everybody had cell phones now, especially dealers and bangers.
“Woman’s voice,” Greer told him. “We’ll have the tape sometime tomorrow.”
“How long did it take to get somebody out here?”
“Thirty-two minutes,” Greer told him, and Michael’s only surprise was that it hadn’t taken longer. According to a local news team investigation, response times to emergency calls from Grady averaged around forty-five minutes. An ambulance took even longer.
Greer turned back to the building as if it could absolve him. “We’re gonna have to call in some help on this one.”
Michael bristled at the suggestion. Statistically, Atlanta was one of the most violent cities in America. A dead hooker was hardly an earth-shattering development, especially considering where she was found.
He told Greer, “That’s all I need is more assholes telling me how to do my job.”
“This asshole thinks it’s exactly what you need,” the lieutenant countered. Michael knew better than to argue—not because Greer wouldn’t tolerate insubordination, but because he’d agree with Michael just to shut him up, then turn around and do whatever the hell he wanted to anyway.
Greer added, “This one’s bad.”
“They’re all bad,” Michael reminded him, opening the back door to his car and taking out his suit jacket.
“Girl didn’t have a chance,” Greer continued. “Beat, cut, fucked six ways to Sunday. We got a real sick fuck on our hands.”
Michael put on his jacket, thinking Greer sounded like he was auditioning for HBO. “Ken’s out of the hospital. Said come by and see him anytime.”
Greer made some noises about being real busy lately before trotting off toward his car, looking back over his shoulder as if he was afraid Michael would follow. Michael waited until his boss was in his car and pulling out of the lot before he headed toward the building.
Collier stood at the doorway, hand resting on the butt of his gun. He probably thought he was keeping watch, but Michael knew that the person who had committed this crime wasn’t going to come back for more. He was finished with the woman. There was nothing else he wanted to do.
Collier said, “The boss left fast.”
“Thanks for the news flash.”
Michael braced himself as he opened the door, letting the damp, dark building slowly draw him in. Whoever had designed the Homes hadn’t been thinking about happy kids coming home from school to warm cookies and milk. They had focused on security, keeping open spaces to a minimum and covering all the light fixtures in steel mesh to protect the bulbs. The walls were exposed concrete with narrow windows tucked into tight little corners, the safety wire embedded in the glass looking like uniform cobwebs. Spray paint covered surfaces that had been painted white once upon a time. Gang tags, warnings and various pieces