Trail of Echoes Read Online Free PDF Page A

big bag. And please remember to get pics of his shoes.”
    A brown, one-story building sat fifty yards to my left—the park’s community center. Maybe Smokey Robinson the Ranger had returned to his office. Maybe Vanessa still needed quiet after coming upon a body in a bag and was now sipping cool water from a tiny paper cup.
    The downpour intensified as I quickstepped toward the community center. The muck made my boots burp. I took one step too quick, and my legs flew from beneath me. I landed on my ass, and my hands sank into gooey, wet earth thick with dying insects. My anal-retentive gene activated, and before I even thought of standing, I swiped my muddy palms on my pants and trench coat, get it off get it off.
    A man’s hand—tanned, strong—reached down from behind me. “At least all of you is covered in mud now.”
    Nerves jangled, I said, “Ha, yeah.” I looked over my shoulder to see his face.
    â€œHi, there.” He smiled to show off perfect white teeth. His. Not purchased. He had olive-colored skin—Black Irish, Spanish, or French—a day’s-growth beard, cocker spaniel–brown eyes, and thick brows that a vain man would have waxed. He was muscular but not meat-head muscular like the Angry Pitcher. He was thisclose to being average-looking for Los Angeles, but attractive enough that I wouldn’t vote him off the island.
    On the other hand, he would’ve voted me off immediately—I looked as though I’d pulled an all-nighter at the local pig and crawfish farm.
    â€œOther than the baseball cap,” he said, “you’re not really dressed for recreation. Kick-ass boots, though.”
    I accepted his hand to stand and winced as pain sparked up and down my left arm. “I try to slip in the mud at least once a month. Keeps me humble. Close to the ground. Like Wilbur from Charlotte’s Web .”
    He retrieved my bag, which had landed in grass, then pointed at my badge hanging on a lanyard around my neck. “You’re a detective.”
    â€œThat’s what it says, yeah. Thanks for helping me out.” I took my bag from him, then limped toward the community center.
    Kind Stranger walked beside me. “I saw you storming down that trail. You okay? You’re holding your arm.”
    I cocked an eyebrow.
    He smiled. “I’m a doctor. Hence my concern.”
    I stopped in my step. “It hurts when I do this.” Then, I waved my arm as though I was flagging down the last bus out of Compton.
    His forehead wrinkled with concern. “Then, don’t do that. Smaller circles.”
    â€œYou go up that trail today?” I asked, resuming my journey to the community center.
    â€œToo iffy, with all the mud. On my days off, like today, I jog around the lake. But I saw all the squad cars and ambulances, so I rushed up to see if I could help.”
    â€œThe proverbial doctor in the house?”
    â€œDoctor and former EMT.” He blushed, then added, “I did the same after Katrina. And 9/11 and … Haiti. Just dropped everything and … Not by myself. Doctors Without Borders.” He shrugged and offered me a shy grin.
    My face warmed. “We have it under control. Thank you again for rescuing me.”
    â€œSo is it true?” he asked. “What you guys found?”
    I gave him a slow smile. “ Found ?”
    He gave me the same smile. “Lemme guess: no comment on an ongoing investigation.”
    I pulled at the center’s door. Locked . I knocked, wincing as my left wrist sparked again.
    He frowned. “You should probably get that checked out. Just my humble, professional, Emory School of Medicine–trained opinion.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I will.” A lie. Was I bleeding? Lame? Dead? Cops didn’t do doctors. At least, not in that way.
    â€œDo you know who they found up there?” he asked. “Yes, I’m asking