Out of the Blues Read Online Free

handcuffed man enough momentum to reach the random footholds. “Left foot,” she said pointing to an exposed root and hefting his arm as he planted his boot. At the top the crowd was thirty yards or so south of where she brought him out, and they weren’t noticed. But they’d come up andout in the common area of the apartments where the command post had now been established.
    It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given the city’s still painful memories of the Child Murders, that quite a few city politicians and the chief of the department would, along with most of his command staff, converge on the scene, if only to assure the media and community that every resource would be made available to find the culprit. So it was just as the chief exited his car, camera people on his heels getting footage for the evening news, that Salt, abraded and covered in filth, emerged with The Baby, Jesus from between two apartment buildings. “Who’s this, Salt?” Chief asked. When he’d come to her hospital room last year after she’d been shot, he’d already known her street name, a contraction of Sarah Alt as it appeared on her first uniform name tag, “S.Alt.”
    â€œThe Baby, Jesus,” answered the suspect for himself.
    â€œOf course, Baby, I thought that was you.” The chief raised his eyebrows at her.
    â€œYou need any assistance?” He turned to his driver and motioned for him to attend to Salt.
    â€œSorry, sir,” she said. “This is my first day in Homicide and I hadn’t gotten a radio yet. If you could ask someone to radio for Sergeant Huff, I believe The Baby, Jesus is our suspect.”
    â€œYes, I killed, murdered, homicided that baby boy there in the gully in the ditch. I choked and crushed the baby right out of his air.”
    â€œShit,” said the chief.
    â€œFilm at six,” said some wiseass from the media scrum as they turned in unison and ran toward their trucks.
    â€”
    â€œI HAD TO look it up, too,” she told them. “They’re called ‘catkins,’ those little dangles that fall from the pecan trees. It’s why some peopledon’t want pecan trees—they’re messy in spring. I have pecan trees at my place, so I noticed. The tree where the boy was found was the only pecan along the ravine.”
    â€œCatkins in the dog’s tail,” repeated Huff.
    â€œBut why did you go to that house?” Hamm asked. “Not that I’m in any way complaining. Thank you, Rookie Detective, for clearing this certain-it-was-going-to-be-a-red-ball-on-my-head case, not to mention he’d probably be a serial kind of guy as well.”
    â€œThe dog,” Salt said. “The dog kept barking. I heard someone in the crowd say, ‘What’s Ivory barking at?’”
    â€œDid you go in the house?”
    â€œNo, Sar—sir. He came out after me.”
    â€œWe tried to interview the old man who lives there,” Hamm said. “He’s way, way off his rocker and supposed to be monitored by some home health-care company. I think the house is a group home.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know how you’re going to write this up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as relieved as Hamm to have this guy in the Gray Bar, but we’re counting on those blood smears on his pants to come back a match for the kid, ’cause flowers in a mutt’s fur ain’t exactly what juries expect in these days of ‘Atlanta CSI.’” He made air quotes again and tipped his chair forward. “Thank God for his spontaneous admission to the chief, crazy as that was.” He shook his head and stood. “I leave the articulation to you ladies.” He tapped the thickening blue file on the conference room table and left the room.
    â€œYou’re a mess.” Hamm smiled at her. “A fine mess, and I need to get some photos of you before you even wash your face.” She used