Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel) Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t want to undermine Silke’s generosity of spirit, another thing I loved about her.
    Outside the bar, I said, “I’ll give you a ride home.”
    “Nah, I’m meeting someone at a club in half an hour. I’ll take a taxi.”
    “A boyfriend? You were drilling me and you were hiding your honey?”
    “Not a boyfriend. Oriel Leger.”
    “So you’re manhunting with Sebastian’s other assistant?” Who I didn’t particularly like. Then again, I didn’t really know her the way Silke must. I shouldn’t jump to judgment.
    “We kind of hit it off, and we’re both dateless at the moment,” Silke said, quickly looking away. “You go home and get some sleep.”
    I did have a long-awaited appointment with my shower and bed, not to mention two cats waiting to be fed.
    Hugging Silke, I said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
    Exhausted, I made my way back to my car but couldn’t keep from letting my mind wander back to Sebastian Cole. About the way he’d looked at me. There was a familiar air about him, but I couldn’t figure out what connection my tired brain was trying to make, so I told myself to give it up.
    Falling into my Camaro, I decided I would think about it tomorrow.
    I went on autopilot until I turned on my police scanner. Even when off-duty, I liked to keep abreast of the crime in the city.
    “Drowning victim…the Chicago River north of Cermak,” dispatch said. “The woman was tied up and stuffed into the trunk of a car…”
    I see a trunk…bound hands…water…deep water…
    I did a U-turn and headed back in the opposite direction.
    And wondered how the hell I could track down a supposed banshee.

Chapter Five
    My yearning for the comfort of my bed fled as I arrived on the murder scene already crowded with official vehicles circling a newer model Cadillac.
    A model with a very big trunk.
    I displayed my star to the uniformed officer trying to hold me back from entering what looked like a parking lot on the Chicago River’s South Branch. He waved me on and I pulled in, tucking the Camaro between a blue-and-white and an ambulance whose light bars flashed—one a luminous blue, the other blood red—against the night sky.
    Its engine still running, a city tow truck sat a few yards from the car it had yanked out of the water. This stretch of the Chicago River was lined with trees, some old growth, more new. The vehicle had gone through several saplings. What was left of the young trees lay scattered across the ground like so many broken pick-up sticks.
    Not many places where one could actually get right up against the river like this.
    I took a better look around.
    The intersection was sort of a no-man’s land. Bridges across the curves of the river served as shortcuts between Bridgeport and Pilsen and Chinatown. Amtrak and Orange Line rapid transit tracks ran parallel to the river, and warehouses in various stages of disrepair dotted the banks. The crumbling brick wall of one old building was painted with a mural, white letters advertising some product or other in Chinese. Across Canal, a marina was locked up against intruders.
    The area was deserted except for whoever was inside a 24/7 restaurant to the north.
    No one but cops around on foot.
    Not even a damn banshee.
    I wondered what the chances were of getting a witness to admit seeing the car take a dunk. Someone must have reported the accident.
    Surveying the scene, I knew I would get my answer from the self-important detective in charge—my nemesis, Detective Mike Norelli.
    Silently groaning, I put on my happy face and joined him. Wearing his usual ill-fitting suit—his tie no doubt holding vestiges of his last meal—Norelli was on his cell and didn’t seem to notice me. He stood next to the open car trunk, in the way of a crime scene investigator trying to work around him.
    The body hadn’t been moved, and I could see the slight figure of a woman in what looked like an expensive business suit. Her body was still relaxed, the limbs not yet set