The Ways of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

be reflecting the scalp in a bit. You know what that is? Reflecting the scalp?”
    “I’ve heard.”
    “I’ve seen. It’s something that shouldn’t happen to fifteen-year-olds at dance class.”
    “What happened to her in the alley?”
    “Can’t say.”
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    “Either. Both. Pick.”
    “Cause of death? Proximate cause of death? We got word this was a stabbing.”
    “You’re looking for attribution or confirmation?”
    “Either. Both. Pick.”
    “No attribution to me or my office. But I will confirm, as a law enforcement official familiar with the investigation, the stabbing.”
    “Multiple? Or a one-shot thing that hit an artery?”
    “Usually when you cut someone’s throat you get the artery.”
    “Multiple wounds or just the one?”
    “Only one apparent.”
    “Sex crime?”
    “Sully. The parents. I’m not saying. Forensics will bear that out anyway, one way or the other.”
    “Is there any evidence it’s targeted? Her being Reese’s kid?”
    “Will neither confirm nor deny.”
    “So what was her condition in the dumpster?”
    “Wrapped in a big black trash bag, like the ones contractors use. But it’s not clear if she was wrapped in that by whoever killed her or by the uniform who found her.”
    “I didn’t hear that right.”
    “The cop who found her. Canvassing the alley—her mother was screaming and everybody knew who she was—officer looks in, sees a body, facedown. Jumps in and rolls her over to, I don’t know, try to save her. Then he sees the cut. She’d bled out onto this black trash bag that was under her. He pulled that back over her body, now that she was faceup, until other units got here.”
    “That wasn’t good.”
    “Hey, no shit. Now we don’t know if she was wrapped up before she got thrown in or if it was already there and she gets thrown in on top of it.”
    “Ah.”
    “And when I say thrown in, let me be clear. This is a tall, big, heavy dumpster, about five feet high. She was down inside there on top of a couple of feet of garbage.”
    “Blood on the pavement outside the dumpster? Side of it?”
    “Some.”
    “A puddle, a lake, a drop?”
    “More than the last, less than the middle.”
    “Eva, for Christ’s sake.”
    “It’s not clear if she was dragged there or killed on the spot if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “Blood nearby?”
    Sully saw her look down at him. The light was muted, from overhead. He could see the beginning of crow’s feet, the full lips, the strong, high cheekbones. It struck him, her age, and by extension, his.
    “Scene is still being worked,” she said, finally.
    “Alright.”
    “You look like you’re half asleep,” she said.
    “You look fried.”
    “If I’m not, I’m going to be.” She nodded good night in parting, turned, and walked to her Jeep Cherokee. She pulled out and was gone.
    Sully called Tony, affirming the manhunt for the three black men in the store and giving the details of the throat slashing. He was careful with the description of the blood’s amount and location, to make it less likely he’d get burned if Eva’s initial description was less than exact. He decided to omit the bit about the black garbage bag; it was just too complicated to get into.
    Tony took the information and cut the line, no bullshitting this time.
    He blew out his lips and cursed softly.
    Eva was dripping out intel to her benefit, handing out the leak on the throat slashing like it was nothing, then holding back on the rest. Fine. Nothing personal. But his job, and his problem, was that he had to get ahead of her and the detectives and the federal agents swarming over this, putting their stamp of What Happened Here on it all.
    Trusting the police—particularly as fucked up as D.C.’s—had never been on his list of smart things to do, and he wasn’t going to start now.
    He limped up Princeton away from the crime scene, and slowly, as he thought, purpose came into his step. The pace picked up. He knew