Out of Body Read Online Free PDF

cups.
    “It’s always been that way.”
    “They didn’t used to expect every detail.” The vertical crease between Archer’s brows had become permanent. “What they want most is what you don’t have and may never get.”
    “The guy from the Times brought up the seven other women who disappeared and never showed up again.”
    “Yeah,” Archer said. “But they were spread out and the type that make themselves vulnerable.”
    “Weren’t they all on the street?” Fisher asked.
    “I think so,” Archer said. “Can’t remember. And it stopped a couple of years back.”
    “But the cases were never solved. And they weren’t singers.”
    Archer’s frown darkened even more and he shook his head.
    “There could still be a connection,” Fisher said. “The perp may have waited until he felt safe to start again.”
    “Thanks, Sherlock,” Archer said.
    Fisher felt deeply morose. “I don’t know how you afford this stuff on a detective’s salary.” He looked into the soggy cup he’d been given. “Can’t you get some crystal glasses to drink it out of? On the arm—”
    “Fuck you,” Archer said, then he snapped open a smile. They both knew he was too straight to be on the take. “The only things I take on the arm are expensive dinners, and women, of course.”
    As far as Fisher knew, Archer continued to have only one woman in his life. She lived out in Toussaint on Bayou Teche and was an off-limits topic unless Archer brought her up.
    The booze blasted Fisher’s throat. It might not be his favorite treat, but this stuff packed a wallop. It was good. He thought he’d finish the drink before he revealed a new detail.This one might turn out to be part of the case that was currently eating Archer’s hangnails.
    “Bucky Fist’s still at the scene,” Archer said of his current partner. “He’s probably got an audience he’d like to feed to a goddamn gator. I thought Lemon would be slamming tips at me already. I reckon there’s so many it’s takin’ him a lot longer than he likes to weed them out.”
    Lemon was a semiretired cop who worked phones on this type of case. He was good at pinpointing what was worth passing on and where it hung in the pecking order. Five years ago he’d lost the use of his legs in an ambush. By some miracle, the bullet he took didn’t put a crimp in his connubial bliss—Lemon made sure no one thought otherwise.
    The way Archer talked, as much to himself as to anyone else, made Fisher think the other man had as good as forgotten he wasn’t alone.
    “We’ll know soon enough if Shirley Cooper was killed somewhere else—Lake Pontchartrain for instance—and taken to the river afterward,” he said.
    “Yeah,” Archer said. “We haven’t found the spot where she went in the water yet. The body could have traveled a long way. There were no signs of a struggle near where she got hung up.”
    “Hung up?”
    “On a motorboat’s propeller. It was moored, thank God. The owner felt a thump and found her.”
    “Nice surprise,” Fisher said.
    He sucked in a large swallow of the firewater and contemplated the prospect of dropping a new bomb. Archer had suggested, most likely in jest, that he suspected Fisher because he’d come in to ask about Amber Lee.
    Things could get worse.
    He drained the vodka. “I know Liza Soaper, too,” he said, expecting the blank look he got. It took only moments for blank to be replaced with angry disbelief.
    “I interviewed her, but I didn’t know she’d gone missing. That happened after I worked with her.”
    Archer pointed a very long, blunt finger at him. “Shut up, and answer me when I ask a question. Whatever game you’re playin’ here is about over. Are you serious about knowing both Soaper and Lee?”
    “Absolutely. Can you check to see if Lemon’s holding up anything useful? He could be…”
    “Can it,” Archer said. “I told you I’m asking the questions.”
    “You need tips and I want you to get them.”
    “Why did you