Ghost Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

times with a heavy, sharp object before he was dumped in the river. Care to see?’
    Mayor Bruce Powell’s pink skin went as pallid as a trout’s belly. He ran his hand across the top of his shellacked sterling-colored hairdo. ‘There hasn’t been a killing in Lawton in twenty years.’
    ‘Twenty-eight years, Uncle Bruce,’ the chief corrected. He had the grape lollipop lodged in the pocket of one cheek like a chipmunk working an acorn.
    ‘Whatever, Mikey,’ the mayor said. He waved the cell phone at them all. ‘Listen up: I want this solved and solved fast, you hear me? Lawton doesn’t need this kind of adverse publicity. Especially not now while we’re in the midst of delicate, delicate negotiations.’
    Lieutenant Bowman tapped her rubber-bottomed boot in the muddy driveway. ‘Our bureau has one of the best solving rates in the country, Mayor Powell. As far as publicity is concerned—’
    ‘Mutilated!’ Powell shouted incredulously before Bowman could finish. He shook his entire arm at the lieutenant. ‘You’ve got to keep that part quiet. Away from the reporters. Damn it, it makes it sound as if there’s a madman on the loose in Lawton! I won’t have that. Not in my town.’
    Gallagher watched as the whole lot of them glanced at the sheet, as if they could not believe it was possible. Gallagher had seen the body first. He believed it was possible.
    ‘We’ll keep that part of it as low-profile as we can,’ Lieutenant Bowman promised.
    ‘Lawton’s a small place,’ the deputy with the mop-top haircut offered. ‘Tough to keep secrets here.’
    A sardonic smirk passed over Nightingale’s face. She looked at the mayor and the chief and said, ‘And here I’d always considered Lawton a town full of secrets.’
    The mayor rubbed a finger under his handlebar mustache and glared at Nightingale. The chief licked his lips. The lollipop had turned his tongue purple. His eyelids went drowsy, the way a lizard’s do before it strikes at an insect. He turned to Bowman: ‘Who’s gonna be your lead? No offense to Sergeant Nightingale, but we all know, given her past, that she might not be up to the—’
    ‘How dare you!’ Nightingale cried.
    ‘That’s quite enough, Sergeant!’ The lieutenant cut her off. ‘Sergeant Nightingale will lead for the time being under my close, close supervision. Fair enough, Chief?’
    Kerris glanced at his deputy and then at the mayor, who shrugged. The chief’s expression turned smarmy. ‘I’m sure the sergeant and I can figure out a way to work together.’
    Nightingale said nothing. The light in the birch glade turned suddenly flat as a storm cloud advanced on the river. Rain fell again. An evidence technician drew back the sheet and took pictures of Hank Potter’s body. The flashes of brilliant metallic light made the birches look iridescent and shimmery, as if they were part of an old black-and-white photograph printed in silver tones.
    ‘Solve it fast,’ Powell said. ‘That’s all I want.’ The mayor waddled off to his truck, his fingers already punching numbers in the cell phone.
    Now a green van bounced its way into the clearing and parked. A short, bushy-haired and bushy-eyebrowed man with a big nose and hairy nostrils stepped out. Melvin Allen, the state’s assistant medical examiner.
    They all walked toward Allen. By the time Gallagher got on hiking boots and went down the stairs and out onto the cabin porch, they were gathered around the body. The medical examiner was tugging at his ear and jerking his head from side to side at the sight of the body. The deputy, whose name was Phil Gavrilis, leaned against one of the birches with his eyes shut. Chief Kerris acted as if he were not a small-town cop, but a hardened New York City homicide detective. He never even blinked.
    Nightingale asked, ‘Can you tell me what he was hit with, Mel, and how long he’s been in the river?’
    The medical examiner shook off his initial shock at the grisly wounds and knelt