Unhinged Read Online Free Page B

thinks the killer could have used the same knife he stabbed the first vic with, but since it wasn’t recovered at either scene, he can’t be sure. Blood loss is the probable cause of death. Bruising on the arms and chest indicate he was restrained at some point. He must’ve fought until he couldn’t anymore.” Ron paused, staring at my notepad.
    â€œIs that it?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s it on the guy.” He flipped the page. “I believe you heard everything on your friend.”
    I nodded, taking my notepad back. “How long before we get lab results?”
    â€œIt depends. It could be several days. I’m sure Gordo will call John and he’ll call us.” Ron huffed and shook his head. “Can you believe this government? The coroner’s office used to be open twenty-four hours with a staff of over forty, and now they open at eight and close at four. Hell, people can’t come here at night. Look around.”
    â€œI know. It sucks. What about Josie Caldwell?”
    â€œI told her Greenwood would keep her informed. She’s okay, but I don’t need another pencil pusher on my back.”
    â€œShould we go to Breaux’s?” I noticed my watch read 3:30 p.m. I pondered where I might get a quick snack.
    â€œYeah, let’s go get this over with. If I were you, I’d watch my ass in that place. You’re the kind of cutie they like.”

    Ron and I were uncomfortably hot as we drove silently down Bourbon Street toward Breaux’s. It was only fifteen minutes from the coroner’s, so the air stayed off, and all the windows remained down. The sun created some shadows on Bourbon, but it was still fantastically humid.
    I pulled over in front of the door, and we entered the popular gay bar. Some visitors who didn’t know better were surprised when they walked into a room of gay men hugging, kissing, and dirty dancing. Ron and I knew what to expect.
    The establishment was dark, except for a few lights showing off an empty dance floor. “Relax” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood vibrated through the speakers. The bartender, who looked like a Gap model, was talking to a couple of guys, otherwise the place was deserted. We approached one end of the counter, where a television aired the latest campaign ad for the reelection of President Robert Vorhees.
    I stood in one spot, careful not to touch anything. Not that I considered myself a homophobe, I just had the absurd notion that sexual activity had occurred in some unlikely places.
    The bartender cut his conversation short and walked over. He looked about seventeen, with a narrow face, and a tight, black T-shirt that read “So?” in little white letters. He had the thin eyebrows of a woman.
    â€œWhat can I get for you, gentlemen?” He gazed at me. I thought he was waiting for me to give him a sign, but I didn’t soften my stare. His eyebrows raised slightly; then he looked over at my partner.
    Ron swung his badge close to the bartender’s face but didn’t give the guy a chance to get a good look at it. “We need information. I’m Detective Lacey; this is Detective Dupree. What’s your name?”
    The kid tilted his head back, as if he had just remembered the name of a song that had been on the tip of his tongue. “Oh, this is about Ryan.”
    â€œWhy don’t you tell us what you know?” Ron asked.
    The man-boy smiled, knowing he had our attention. “We’ve been expecting cops to show up. A report about the double murder just came on the news.”
    â€œTell us something that hasn’t been on television,” I snapped. “What’s your name, anyway?”
    â€œRoger. I was one of the bartenders working that Friday night. But I couldn’t tell you anything about it.”
    â€œWe’ll decide that. You knew the victim?” I asked.
    â€œEveryone knew Ryan. He came here to dance all the time. It’s a real