Lethal Practice Read Online Free Page B

dressed almost identically in raincoats, gray slacks, and black shoes. Probably the outfits came in sets with the unmarked cars these guys cruised around in. No one in Buffalo reaches legal age without the smarts to pick cops out of a crowd.
    “Dr. Watts?” asked the stout one with gray hair.
    “I’m Watts,” Robert said.
    “Detective Bufort,” he introduced himself. Turning to the younger and much taller man standing at his side, he added, “And this is Detective Riley.”
    Watts made the introductions on our side, and we all shook hands as politely as if we were meeting for a round of golf. Funny thing about police. The more serious the crime, the more polite the cops. In some neighborhoods, if you were too poor, drunk, or hostile, you could end up down at the station being pounded with a telephone book around the ribs for peeing on the sidewalk. But commit a murder and it’s first-class treatment all the way.
    Detective Bufort and I were the last to shake hands, then Dr. Watts invited them in to meet Kingsly.
    The two officers quietly and competently took charge. They quickly inspected the body and the room, then questioned Watts and me. When I told them I’d seen Kingsly staggering down the hall earlier that evening and reported it, Detective Riley made a note. I guessed he was going to check with security and housekeeping to see if they’d found him or if I was the last person to see him alive—besides the killer, of course. Watts mentioned the raised room temperature and explained that it wouldn’t interfere significantly with his ability to estimate the time of death.
    “But a nonmedical person wouldn’t necessarily know that,” Bufort said.
    “No,” Watts said, “but even a killer who did know might have jacked up the temperature to dry off Kingsly’s body after cleaning it up in a hurry with alcohol.” He explained about the blood, suggesting that the detectives confirm what he was saying by smelling. Bufort hesitated, then gestured for Riley to do it. The younger man’s jaw muscles bulged and he seemed to bristle, but he got down on one knee, gingerly sniffed Kingsly’s chest, then nodded.
    While Watts and I told what we figured had happened to the clothes and how we thought the police could find the site of the killing, Riley took notes. I watched the muscles in his jaw slowly relax as he wrote.
    “Do you have any idea who did this?” Bufort asked when we’d finished. Hurst and Watts shook their heads. I thought of the abandoned mop and bucket I’d seen outside the doctors’ lounge but answered, “No.”
    Bufort frowned at the three of us, then flipped his own notebook closed and warned everyone in the room not to talk. “None of you should discuss the details of what you’ve seen here tonight, not even with your families. We don’t want the killer to have any idea about how much we know.”
    Hurst cornered Watts and me before we could leave.
    “We will carry on business as usual,” he said, his voice hard now that he had regained control, “including this morning’s planned budget meeting at seven.”
    I flinched. That was only four hours away.
    “And I,” he continued, “will announce Kingsly’s death, not you two.” He glared at Watts and me for a second. “Is that clear?”
     

Chapter 3
     
    An all-night rain had slicked down the city and left a misty halo around each street lamp. The stoplights at Main and High streets bled their reflections onto the shiny blacktop. It was November, my least favorite month. No snow yet, just sodden leaves and the smells of autumn long gone. I routinely drove to work in the dark and drove home under wet black skies. Sometimes the hissing of the tires nearly put me to sleep, but tonight, thinking of who had killed Kingsly kept me awake, wide awake.
    When Bufort had asked if I could come up with of any reason for the murder, I’d immediately thought of Kingsly’s reputation for hitting on the female staff. I’d heard more and more