Night Kills Read Online Free PDF Page B

were shaking.
        After getting the food on, he went to work on Foster. He shoved his hands under Foster's arms and half dragged the man into the nearby half bath where he threw cold water on his face, squirted some toothpaste in his mouth, and then filled his hand with a cup of coffee. He forced Foster to drink the coffee before they left the bathroom.
        Back in the kitchen, Brolan shoved the food at Foster and said, "Eat."
        "Jesus Christ," Foster said, more sober now but cranky as hell. "What's going on, anyway?"
        "Just eat. Then I'll tell you."
        "Aren't you going to eat?"
        Brolan looked at his food. "Uh, no."
        "Why not?"
        "Not hungry."
        "How come?"
        "Foster. Please eat. Please. And drink lots more coffee. I need you to be sober."
        "You look like shit."
        "Thanks."
        "That's not a gratuitous insult. I mean you really look like shit. What happened, anyway? Did I pass out and miss something important?"
        "Eat. Please."
        So Foster shrugged and ate. He popped his over-easy eggs so that the yellow ran free, and then he started dunking his toast in the yolk. The bacon he ate ravenously and with his fingers. He finished everything on his plate within minutes. Then he raised his eyes and stared at Brolan's plate. "You're really not going to eat?"
        "No."
        "You mind if I eat it, then?"
        "Be my guest."
        Foster took the edges of Brolan's plate and pulled it over to him. He shrugged then and dug in.
        Halfway through his pig-out, Foster raised his eyes again. "You still look like shit."
        "Thanks again."
        "Something's really wrong, isn't it?"
        "You going to give me a clue?"
        Brolan sighed. He had to tell Foster sometime. May as well be now. "When you're finished there, I want you to go down to the basement."
        "For what?"
        "To look around."
        "And what will I find?"
        "A woman."
        "Is she naked?"
        "As a matter of fact, she is."
        For the first time, Foster stopped eating. He even pushed the plate away. "All right, what the hell's going on? There's a nude woman in your basement, and you don't look very happy about it. Ordinarily you'd be very happy indeed. So I can infer from that there's something wrong with this woman. Right?"
        "Right."
        "This is when I wish I still smoked." Foster sighed and looked straight at his partner. "She's dead, isn't she?"
        "Yes."
        "Jesus Christ. You're not kidding me now, are you?"
        "I wish I were."
        "Jesus Christ."
        "She's the woman from the other night."
        "The other night?"
        "The one I had the run-in with."
        "The one who spilled the drink on you?"
        "Yes."
        "Jesus Christ. How did she get into your basement?"
        "I don't know. But I wish you'd go down there and check things out. Then why don't you come back up here and we'll talk."
        "You mind if I pee first?"
        "Fine with me."
        So Foster peed first and then he went down to the basement.
        Brolan sat at the table drinking coffee. None of this made sense. None of it.
        In ten minutes Foster came back up. He sat down at the table across from Brolan and said, "I've got to ask you something."
        "What?"
        "You didn't kill her, did you?"
        "Are you crazy?"
        "I had to ask. I had to know."
        "Well, now you know."
        "So you call the cops?" Foster said.
        "You're forgetting Linda Rollins."
        "Linda Rollins? The woman you used to live with?"
        "Right."
        "What about her?"
        "Remember the charges she filed against me when I tried to move out. Domestic abuse?"
        "But you didn't do anything to her."
        "Right. But I'm not sure either the police or that judge believed me. I always had the sneaking suspicion that they