Savage Echoes (The Nickie Savage Series, Short Story Prequel) Read Online Free Page B
Author: R.T. Wolfe
substitute teacher. "I'm on my way to hunt them up now."
"I'd tell you to let third shift take over until tomorrow, but I know I'd be wasting my breath. Don't go alone. Take Lynx. He hasn't left for home yet."
She'd gotten Duncan clearance as a civilian consultant to listen to the first 9-1-1 tape, but she wouldn't know how to explain to Dave about the underpasses. She also knew better than to check out a lead by herself.
Running her hands over the top of her damp hair, she answered, "Yes, sir."
As she left his office, he said, "Don't call me 'sir.'"
Smiling, she popped into Eddy's office. It was supposed to be her office after the unfortunate incarceration of the previous captain moved everyone around. Scumbag piece of shit. But she didn't want the emptied office.
He was messier than she was. She was afraid to touch anything. At least her desk was clean.
Knocking on the open door, she strolled in and studied his case board as she spoke. "I've got names and addresses on Serena Flats' boyfriend and for a substitute teacher who didn't show up for her lab this afternoon. You up for tagging along?"
"Tagging along?" He grabbed his police issue jacket. "Do I get to play with the siren?" he said sarcastically.
"It's late, Eddy. I just meant you don't have to come along if you don't want."
"I work here, too. Of course I have to go with you. Even if I'm just tagging along." He spread a smile from ear to ear. No wonder she'd been stupid enough to sleep with him.
A missing girl, distraught parents, dead end after dead end, and a day that for most of upstate New York was coming to an end. Riding with Eddy was more than she was willing to tolerate. Take him along, okay. Ride with him talking a mile a minute all over town, no. "It's late, Lynx. We're driving separate." Ignoring his pause, she tied her hip-length brown raincoat at the waist and briefed him as they walked.
* * *
Duncan rolled a few hundred yards along the shoulder of Highway 34. He stopped long before the bridge. It was dark and would have been quiet to most ears. His were never quiet. He could hear the small squeak of a bat as it circled. The occasional rustle of leaves could mean anything from a large rodent to deer. And water.
He checked that his Beretta was secured in the belt at his back before starting the short hike to the bridge. The creek flowed smoothly. No rocks. Only mud and grasses so far. The incline was shallow, the floodplain heavy with tall, dead plants. Parts had been matted down. Were they from the footprints of the animals that were rustling the leaves? Or from a man who liked to kidnap young women?
With his hand resting on his gun, he climbed down. The water sounded familiar. He stopped at the edge of the tunnel and listened. He heard nothing but the steady stream. Slowly, he cocked his head around and peered into the large, concrete tubing. It was easily eight feet in diameter with a steady stream of water three feet wide. Remembering the smaller tubing, he craned his head to see if there were any blankets. Or bodies.
Water trickled from each of the smaller tubes in this tunnel. Convinced he was alone, he took his hand from his gun and started in. The gravel crunched beneath his Armani slip-ons. He walked the distance of the underpass and out the other side. Retracing his steps, he stopped this time at the smaller channels that intersected the main drainage system. The tunnel was long enough to duck sunlight. He used his flashlight app and looked down the long passageway. A handful of tiny pairs of eyes reflected red against the beam. Rats. It took more than that to give him the chills. He'd served in the Middle East.
Squatting down, he scooped up some of the gravel and shone the light on it. His brows furrowed as he brought the tiny pebbles in for a closer look. He looked around as if an evidence bag might pop out of nowhere, then stuffed the rocks into the front pocket of his jeans.
* * *
"Would you like a drink while we're
"I'd tell you to let third shift take over until tomorrow, but I know I'd be wasting my breath. Don't go alone. Take Lynx. He hasn't left for home yet."
She'd gotten Duncan clearance as a civilian consultant to listen to the first 9-1-1 tape, but she wouldn't know how to explain to Dave about the underpasses. She also knew better than to check out a lead by herself.
Running her hands over the top of her damp hair, she answered, "Yes, sir."
As she left his office, he said, "Don't call me 'sir.'"
Smiling, she popped into Eddy's office. It was supposed to be her office after the unfortunate incarceration of the previous captain moved everyone around. Scumbag piece of shit. But she didn't want the emptied office.
He was messier than she was. She was afraid to touch anything. At least her desk was clean.
Knocking on the open door, she strolled in and studied his case board as she spoke. "I've got names and addresses on Serena Flats' boyfriend and for a substitute teacher who didn't show up for her lab this afternoon. You up for tagging along?"
"Tagging along?" He grabbed his police issue jacket. "Do I get to play with the siren?" he said sarcastically.
"It's late, Eddy. I just meant you don't have to come along if you don't want."
"I work here, too. Of course I have to go with you. Even if I'm just tagging along." He spread a smile from ear to ear. No wonder she'd been stupid enough to sleep with him.
A missing girl, distraught parents, dead end after dead end, and a day that for most of upstate New York was coming to an end. Riding with Eddy was more than she was willing to tolerate. Take him along, okay. Ride with him talking a mile a minute all over town, no. "It's late, Lynx. We're driving separate." Ignoring his pause, she tied her hip-length brown raincoat at the waist and briefed him as they walked.
* * *
Duncan rolled a few hundred yards along the shoulder of Highway 34. He stopped long before the bridge. It was dark and would have been quiet to most ears. His were never quiet. He could hear the small squeak of a bat as it circled. The occasional rustle of leaves could mean anything from a large rodent to deer. And water.
He checked that his Beretta was secured in the belt at his back before starting the short hike to the bridge. The creek flowed smoothly. No rocks. Only mud and grasses so far. The incline was shallow, the floodplain heavy with tall, dead plants. Parts had been matted down. Were they from the footprints of the animals that were rustling the leaves? Or from a man who liked to kidnap young women?
With his hand resting on his gun, he climbed down. The water sounded familiar. He stopped at the edge of the tunnel and listened. He heard nothing but the steady stream. Slowly, he cocked his head around and peered into the large, concrete tubing. It was easily eight feet in diameter with a steady stream of water three feet wide. Remembering the smaller tubing, he craned his head to see if there were any blankets. Or bodies.
Water trickled from each of the smaller tubes in this tunnel. Convinced he was alone, he took his hand from his gun and started in. The gravel crunched beneath his Armani slip-ons. He walked the distance of the underpass and out the other side. Retracing his steps, he stopped this time at the smaller channels that intersected the main drainage system. The tunnel was long enough to duck sunlight. He used his flashlight app and looked down the long passageway. A handful of tiny pairs of eyes reflected red against the beam. Rats. It took more than that to give him the chills. He'd served in the Middle East.
Squatting down, he scooped up some of the gravel and shone the light on it. His brows furrowed as he brought the tiny pebbles in for a closer look. He looked around as if an evidence bag might pop out of nowhere, then stuffed the rocks into the front pocket of his jeans.
* * *
"Would you like a drink while we're
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