I WAS AT MY DESK in the squad1 room the next day when Rich came in after lunch smelling of garbage.
“Tough morning in Jackson?”
“Yeah, but I think the sheriff’s digging for his fifteen minutes of fame before the Feds take over the search. He’s got it under control.”
I pinched my nose as Rich pulled out his chair, folded his long legs under his side of the desk, and opened his container of coffee.
“Phone records show that yes, Junie did call Malcolm at 11:21 on the night Michael went missing. And she called him every night at about that time.”
“Girl stays in touch with her boyfriend.”
“And Clapper called,” I told my partner. “The prints on the knife are Malcolm’s.”
“Yeah? That’s excellent!”
“But the blood is bovine,” I said.
“It’s a steak knife. He ate a steak.”
“Yep. It gets worse.”
“Hang on.” Rich dumped a couple of sugars into his coffee, stirred, slugged it down. “Okay. Hit me.”
“There’s no blood or tissue in the bathtub, and the hair we sent out came back with no match. Furthermore, there’s no sign that anyone tried to cover up the blood. No bleach2.”
“Great,” my partner said, scowling3. “What is this? The perfect crime?”
“There’s more and worse. There’s no trace of blood in or on Malcolm’s vehicle, no hairs consistent with Michael’s.”
“So I was wrong about the truck. You should have bet me, Lindsay. We’d be having dinner tonight - on me.”
I grinned and said, “You would have showered first, I suppose.”
But my mood could hardly be lower. I was going to have to call the Campions and tell them that we still had no physical evidence, and that Junie Moon had recanted her confession4 and we’d had to kick Ricky Malcolm.
“You want to call Malcolm and tell him he can have his truck back?”
Rich picked up his phone, called Malcolm, got no answer.
We took a drive out to the crime lab at Hunter’s Point Naval5 Yard, opened all the car windows on the way, and let the wind air out my partner’s clothes. At the lab, I signed a release for the truck, and after three more unanswered calls to Ricky Malcolm, we drove to his apartment.
Rich yelled, “Police,” and knocked loudly on Malcolm’s door until a small Chinese man came out from the restaurant downstairs.
He shouted up to us, “Mr. Malcolm gone. He paid his rent and leave on motorcycle. You want to see mess upstairs?”
“We’ve seen it, thanks.”
“He’s gone, all right,” I muttered to Conklin as we got into the squad car. “Ricky Malcolm. Sleaze. Slob. Easy rider. Criminal freakin’ mastermind. Coming soon to a town near you.”
1 squad | |
n.班,小队,小团体;vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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2 bleach | |
vt.使漂白;vi.变白;n.漂白剂 | |
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3 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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4 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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5 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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