White Elephant Dead Read Online Free PDF

handled by Ed McBain’s Steve Carella of New York’s 87th Precinct, Barbara D’Amato’s Chicago officer Suze Figueroa and Susan Dunlap’s Berkeley cop Jill Smith. But Annie wasn’t a cop, she was a friend. Henny. Dear Henny, so crisp and clever and kind. Annie gave no thought to fingerprints or DNA as she grabbed the end of the blanket and yanked, pulling hardagainst a dreadful, unyielding weight. She scrambled next to the still form, pushed and pulled until the blanket slid away.
    Blood matted dark hair.
    Annie was so shocked that for an instant she could scarcely believe what she saw.
    Not Henny. “It’s not Henny. Oh Max, it’s not Henny.” It felt like a shout even though she scarcely managed a whisper. There was an instant of unimaginable relief, but that was swiftly superseded by a wash of horror as she recognized Kathryn Girard, a brutally dead Kathryn, her skull crushed by a powerful blow. The ferocity of the attack made Annie feel sick and frightened.
    Unwillingly, Annie reached past Kathryn, making sure there was not another body there. But no, that was only a quick nightmarish fear, impelled by the grisly discovery. There was no room for anyone else in the van.
    Dear God, where was Henny? One murder was clear to see. Had there been two?
     
    Annie heard the wail of the siren, but she didn’t pause in her slow, careful survey of the rain-drenched salt myrtle and bayberry and yaupon holly shrubs on either side of the road. Water glistened on ferns. She was looking for some trace of crushed branches or, worst possibility, another still form. Back and forth she swung her flashlight. She didn’t bother to hunt for footprints in the sticky mud of the narrow road. The steady rain would have washed out any trace. The siren choked off in midsqueal. Bright lights pierced the darkness behind her, signaling the arrival of the police. Max was at the van to hail them. He’d been reluctant to let her seek Henny, but he understood that she must. And, as she’d informed him, murderers don’t linger. Annie felt she was safe enough. If only Henny was safe…
    A police radio crackled. She glanced back. A stark light flared behind the van. The methodical gathering of evidence had begun. No doubt a careful search was being organized.
    Annie followed the curve in the road. The road widenedinto a turnaround. An iron grillwork arch marked the entrance to King Snake Park. Annie suppressed a shudder, though a naturalist friend had once waxed rhapsodic about the glorious nonpoisonous Eastern King with its golden markings and its penchant for eating poisonous snakes. Annie took comfort in the fact (surely this was true) that snakes don’t like to be cold, so none of the glorious creatures should be writhing about near her on this rainy night. Her light played across a series of picnic tables, the beam poking here and there, as ineffectual in illuminating the darkness as the flicker of fireflies. Beyond the tables was the murky lagoon, undoubtedly home to alligators. Alligators hunt at night. The fearsome creatures reach fourteen feet, weigh five hundred pounds and have mouths with teeth that can rip small dogs into morsels.
    If Henny was in the lagoon, she was long past help. If she was lost or hurt somewhere in this rugged terrain, she had to be found and found soon. The rain had eased. Now it was a steady, fine drizzle, but the temperature had dropped into the sixties. Obviously, Henny wasn’t on her feet, wasn’t able to call for help. If she were to lie unmoving too long, hypothermia would kill her.
    Annie whirled and ran back toward the lights and the metallic squawk of the police radio.
     
    A searchlight on the bed of a small pickup threw the back of the Women’s Club van into garish relief. Rain misted against the open rear door, beaded the floor.
    Max was gesturing toward the woods. “…need to round up a search party. There’s no trace of Henny Brawley. My wife’s looking for her.”
    “I’m in charge here.”