Bad Company Read Online Free PDF

something was wrong. Came up to take a look. I got here first, but Sally was right behind me.”
    Atkins just nodded, taking notes. “And you didn’t disturb anything? Didn’t pick up any beer cans or kick things around?”
    “No,” said Sally. “Oh, wait a minute. Yeah, I did. Here.” She dug the cigarette pack out of her knapsack and noticed, for the first time, that somebody had torn the foil on top into strips, like the fringe on Buffalo Bill’s jacket. She handed the pack to Atkins, who gave her a look that said, “Real bozo move, girl,” and then handed it to a tech, who bagged it.
    “Sorry. I guess you’ll find my prints on that one. But that was all I touched. We were careful. Still, when I saw her arm, I did go over there and look down into the crevice. That’s how we knew who it was.” Sally shook her head, fighting a small wave of nausea. “What was that cord on her wrist?”
    Dickie looked up, his eyes grim, revealing nothing. “A piggin’ string. The calf ropers use them to tie animals down. There were rope burns on both her wrists.”
    “That’s not for public consumption,” said Atkins, giving Dickie a quick glance. “I reckon we’ll ask the questions, Professor Alder.”
    But Sally wasn’t really listening. The shock had fallen away, and anger was taking over. “Some fuckhead cowboy brought her out here for a party, tied her up, attacked her, shot her? Is that what you think happened here?”
    “We don’t have any idea,” said Dickie. “We’re just collecting evidence.”
    “Not our job to jump to conclusions,” Atkins added.
    “Bullshit,” said Sally. “Tell me that isn’t what it looks like. Beer cans, butts, even a can of chew? Cowboy boot prints in the dirt? A piggin’ string?”
    “We know what it looks like,” Dickie told her, with labored patience. “But at this point, that’s all we know. Lot of work to do on this yet, Sally.” He looked over at the crime lab guys and the coroner, getting ready to put Monette into a body bag. “We’re just beginning.”
    And there was no time to waste. If Monette had been killed by some kinked-up bastard who’d come in Monday morning just for the rodeo and started his week off with a bang, Sally knew he might be gone already. Might stick around for the week, wreaking more havoc. Potential witnesses might only be passing through. Dickie and his people would have to work fast to get their man before the week was out. After that, the trail would get colder than a fence post in February.
    Cold bloody murder and hot brutal rape. They just had to find the guy who did it and make him pay and pay. But what could Sally do?
    Hawk was a step ahead of her. “You saw Monette this morning at the Lifeway, didn’t you?” he asked her.
    “Yes. She checked me out this morning,” Sally told Dickie and the detective.
    Poor Dickie. For a moment the wretched man leaked through and showed in the eyes of the dispassionate cop.
    “Yeah. She got promoted this week. Mary was real proud of her.” He looked down at the ground, swallowed, got possession of himself. When he looked up, the man had gone back inside, and all that showed was the cop. “So did you talk to her?”
    “Yeah, I did. Small talk. She was pissed off that she’d have to work nights most of the week and would miss the fun.”
    Atkins, the investigator, wrote it all down. Dickie stared off into the distance, at something that had him swallowing hard again. “Monette had a fucked-up idea of fun,” he said.
    And just the way he said it made Sally forget her own mad and sad, and remember that Dickie was the dead girl’s uncle, and a man who’d had, and paid for, more than a few wrongheaded notions about fun in his day. “I know what you mean. So when I was checking out, I was in line between a couple of guys who looked like the human versions of a sloth and a salamander—or maybe that’s not fair to the animals. Maybe they were lower species. A blob and a virus. Anyway,