White Elephant Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

Rain dripped from a snap-brim hat sheathed in plastic, rolled down the gray plastic poncho. The voice was gruff, the posture straight and stiff, and both seemed at odds with a youthful, rounded face with plump cheeks, dogged blue eyes and a snub nose. In the blazing spotlight, the earnest young man staring up at Max lookedmore like a choirboy than a law officer. “Chief Garrett. My immediate duty is to secure the crime scene—”
    “Chief”—Max’s voice was dangerously quiet—“we have a missing woman. She’s elderly, defenseless and—”
    “Thought your wife told you this Brawley woman had chased after the victim.” He pointed at the van.
    Annie skidded to a stop beside Max. “Henny went after the van because she was worried about Kathryn—”
    “We’ll see what the lady says when we talk to her. You folks can wait over—”
    “Chief!” Annie wished she were as imperious as Amanda Cross’s sleuth Kate Fansler. “You don’t understand. Henny Brawley is missing. There’s her car”—it was Annie’s turn to point—“and we haven’t found any trace of her. None.”
    “She can’t get far. Now you folks need to get out of the way. This is a crime scene.” He swung toward the van. “Pirelli, make sure you get a complete sweep with the videocam—”
    Lou Pirelli was stocky and muscular. His posture didn’t change, but he stared at his boss in surprise for an instant, then said, “Yes, sir.”
    “—and Cameron, get on the horn, get some dogs out here. Tyndall, check out that car”—he pointed toward Henny’s old black Dodge, the headlights beginning to dim as the battery ran lower—“lift some prints from the steering wheel, see if you find a match in the van.”
    Billy Cameron had been on the Broward’s Rock police force ever since Annie had arrived on the island, a gentle, sweet giant, towering at six-foot-three, handsome as a rugby player in a sport drink ad. He ducked his head as he passed Annie, obviously unhappy with his new boss, but Billy followed orders. As would Officers Pirelli and Tyndall, who made up the rest of the Broward’s Rock police force. Joe Tyndall had a complete collection of Mike Hammer paperbacks. He liked to kid Annie that the Mickey Spillane novels were the only politically incorrect books still in print. He,too, avoided her gaze as he broke into a trot, heading for Henny’s car.
    This was Annie’s first meeting with the new chief, who had succeeded their old friend Frank Saulter. Frank was celebrating his retirement by going on a round-the-world trip with his oldest grandson via tramp steamers, hostels and hitchhiking. Yesterday they’d received a card from South America: Going up the Amazon. Found a signed first edition of The Glass Key in a little store in Tefé. Cost $2 American. Love, Frank .
    Annie felt the quick burn of tears. She’d shown the card to Henny, who considered Frank an intense rival in the world of mystery collecting. Henny had clapped her hands together. “That’s a real coup. We’ll have a party for Frank when he gets back.”
    Annie wished Frank, dear laconic, saturnine, dyspeptic Frank, were here tonight instead of this newcomer who was too busy establishing his authority to listen. Annie forgot to remember her long-standing resolve to curb her quick tongue. “Look here, it doesn’t matter whether Henny’s fingerprints are on the van. You could find her prints on the murder weapon and it wouldn’t mean a thing! Henny would never hurt a soul. And she’s out there somewhere”—Annie’s arm swept toward the wet shrubs and dripping forest—“and she could die if we don’t find her soon.”
    A satisfied smirk transformed the plump face. Garrett looked like Hamilton Burger confident he’d finally cornered Perry Mason. “Do I understand that you have searched the immediate area and found no trace of the missing woman?” His voice had the stentorian ring of a prosecutor.
    Garrett certainly lacked people skills, but Annie was