"Kiser, Marcia - Doctor Of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kiser Marcia)

DOCTOR OF DEATH
By
Marcia Kiser

The dark-haired woman ignored her reflection as she pressed her forehead against the cold plate glass window and stared at the street below. She peeked at the clock on the wall. 3:00 on Tuesday. Right on time. She stared at the street and saw him. An older, heavy-set gentleman in a red plaid jacket. Her reflection mocked the Mona Lisa smile she wore and turned it into something evil. Her dark hair swirled around her pale face and her obscenely red lips made her look like a modern day Vampira. Her tongue crept from her mouth to moisten her lips as she watched the man.

The man walked along the street and stopped, staring around him as though bewildered. Stumbling, hesitating steps took him to the middle of the block.

The woman breathed faster and her hand joined her face pressed against the glass.

The man stumbled forward, between two parked cars, and stopped. He shook his head.

On the glass, the woman's hand curled into a fist, leaving gray phantom clouds outlining her fingers.

The man looked both ways. And stepped into traffic. The bus never had a chance to stop.

The woman pounded her fist against the glass, her mouth open in a soundless cry.

***

"I need to talk to a homicide detective."

"Excuse me, sir, I said I need to talk to a homicide detective." The older woman rapped her knuckles on the desk.

"Yeah? A homicide detective? What for?" The bored desk sergeant stifled a yawn, barely.

"Are you a homicide detective?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not."

"Well, then, I'll wait and talk to a homicide detective." The woman clutched her alligator bag to her chest, her fingers caressing the gold clasp.

"Okay, lady, whatever you say. Have a seat over there and I'll get somebody up here," the sergeant said as he swung toward the phone and punched a button.

***

"Ma'am, the desk sergeant said you wanted to talk to a detective? Can I help? I'm Detective Salida Sanchez." Salida tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. Technically, she wasn't on duty, so she had not bound her mane of hair in her usual French braid or bun.

"Oh, my! You're Hispanic, aren't you? How wonderful. I think it's wonderful what the Women's Movement has done for women, don't you? Are you a homicide detective?"

Salida blinked at the woman's rapid, breathless speech. "Yes, ma'am. I'm with the Serious Crimes Division. We investigate murders."

"Thank goodness. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Why don't you come to my office?" Salida offered, puzzled why this middle-aged, gray-haired, bird of a woman would want to talk to the police.

***
Salida got the woman settled and handed her a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

"Oh, my! Police coffee is as bad as they pretend on TV, isn't it?" the woman gasped as her first sip. "My dear, I don't think I would drink any more it, if I were you. Anything that tastes that bad can't be good for you."