never met anyone before who actually cackled.
"I'm Detective Thompson," she said.
"You work in homicide?"
Her gaze shifted away from me. "Sometimes."
Sometimes. Who worked homicide cases sometimes? Oh.
"You're PTF," I said. The Paranormal Task Force is the secret section of the police department that serves the supernatural world. Cops like Detective Thompson are the human liaisons to crimes involving djinn, the Nephilim or magicians. Although their existence would be denied, every colony has one. Some colonies take the supernatural more seriously than others. It depends on who's in charge and whether they're believers.
Her face registered surprise. "You know about the PTF?"
I nodded. "I've had reasons to know." I wasn't about to tell her I worked as an Elite agent or that I was cuffed. That seemed a bit premature.
"There's been a lot of activity in my area lately," she said. "When I heard there were remains found, I came here to see for myself that they were human."
"And are they?" The sneaker wasn't a guarantee that the victim was human. The sneaker only told us that the victim wasn't a Naphil. No self-respecting Naphil would dare wear Day-Glo orange high-top sneakers.
Detective Thompson shrugged. "They're still putting him back together up there. We'll know soon enough." She eyed me. "Why do you have reasons to know, anyway?"
"In my line of work," I replied smoothly, "I have all kinds of clients." I placed heavy emphasis on all kinds .
She made a grunting noise. "Maybe you want to warn some of your clients then. There seems to be some kind of serial killer on the loose." She paused and glanced around to see whether anyone was listening. "If this guy turns out to be not entirely human, then it will be the fourth one this month in my precinct."
"Are they all like this one?" I asked, gesturing toward the wayward shoe.
"Sliced and diced," she said and nodded. "To varying degrees. From what I understand, they're still looking for this guy's torso."
"And foot," I said.
She gave a small smile. "I'd better summon the lab geeks, as you say. You should clear out. Now that we've found a piece over here, this whole area will be off-limits."
She seemed nice. A nice contact in the PTF could prove useful during my stay in Philadelphia. "Do you have a card, Detective?"
She pulled one from her pocket. "My extension seems to get changed regularly without anyone telling me. If you get someone else, ask for Detective Kenya Thompson. There's another Thompson in vice and my calls are usually sent to him."
Typical. "Thanks." I slid the card into my waistband. Although I had no pockets, the running pants were made of Lycra, tight enough to wedge the card in place.
I turned around and jogged back to my starting point. The run may have been a wash, but the day had just gotten a little more interesting.
11
O n Wednesday morning , I left the apartment while Farah was sleeping off another late night with the muscular Hinn. At least she came home this time.
I managed to grab a cab one block over and save my new sandals from immediate wear and tear. These babies had to last.
I gave the driver the address of the mini-mart in Wynnewood. Although traffic wasn't bad leaving Center City, I couldn't say the same for incoming traffic. I didn't know how people commuted every day.
Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled into the parking lot.
"You want me to wait?" the cabbie asked.
"No, thanks." I had no idea how long I would be. I couldn't afford to keep the meter running. I paid the man and departed the cab.
The mini-mart wasn't too big, hence the name. I figured it would be easy to find him if he stuck to his routine as closely as Flynn claimed.
I strode inside, keeping an eye out for a man in an Eagles hat.
"Good morning, sunshine," a baritone voice said.
I spun around and groaned at the sight of Niko and Mickey. Niko picked up a handheld shopping cart.
"What are you doing?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"There was another
"I'm Detective Thompson," she said.
"You work in homicide?"
Her gaze shifted away from me. "Sometimes."
Sometimes. Who worked homicide cases sometimes? Oh.
"You're PTF," I said. The Paranormal Task Force is the secret section of the police department that serves the supernatural world. Cops like Detective Thompson are the human liaisons to crimes involving djinn, the Nephilim or magicians. Although their existence would be denied, every colony has one. Some colonies take the supernatural more seriously than others. It depends on who's in charge and whether they're believers.
Her face registered surprise. "You know about the PTF?"
I nodded. "I've had reasons to know." I wasn't about to tell her I worked as an Elite agent or that I was cuffed. That seemed a bit premature.
"There's been a lot of activity in my area lately," she said. "When I heard there were remains found, I came here to see for myself that they were human."
"And are they?" The sneaker wasn't a guarantee that the victim was human. The sneaker only told us that the victim wasn't a Naphil. No self-respecting Naphil would dare wear Day-Glo orange high-top sneakers.
Detective Thompson shrugged. "They're still putting him back together up there. We'll know soon enough." She eyed me. "Why do you have reasons to know, anyway?"
"In my line of work," I replied smoothly, "I have all kinds of clients." I placed heavy emphasis on all kinds .
She made a grunting noise. "Maybe you want to warn some of your clients then. There seems to be some kind of serial killer on the loose." She paused and glanced around to see whether anyone was listening. "If this guy turns out to be not entirely human, then it will be the fourth one this month in my precinct."
"Are they all like this one?" I asked, gesturing toward the wayward shoe.
"Sliced and diced," she said and nodded. "To varying degrees. From what I understand, they're still looking for this guy's torso."
"And foot," I said.
She gave a small smile. "I'd better summon the lab geeks, as you say. You should clear out. Now that we've found a piece over here, this whole area will be off-limits."
She seemed nice. A nice contact in the PTF could prove useful during my stay in Philadelphia. "Do you have a card, Detective?"
She pulled one from her pocket. "My extension seems to get changed regularly without anyone telling me. If you get someone else, ask for Detective Kenya Thompson. There's another Thompson in vice and my calls are usually sent to him."
Typical. "Thanks." I slid the card into my waistband. Although I had no pockets, the running pants were made of Lycra, tight enough to wedge the card in place.
I turned around and jogged back to my starting point. The run may have been a wash, but the day had just gotten a little more interesting.
11
O n Wednesday morning , I left the apartment while Farah was sleeping off another late night with the muscular Hinn. At least she came home this time.
I managed to grab a cab one block over and save my new sandals from immediate wear and tear. These babies had to last.
I gave the driver the address of the mini-mart in Wynnewood. Although traffic wasn't bad leaving Center City, I couldn't say the same for incoming traffic. I didn't know how people commuted every day.
Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled into the parking lot.
"You want me to wait?" the cabbie asked.
"No, thanks." I had no idea how long I would be. I couldn't afford to keep the meter running. I paid the man and departed the cab.
The mini-mart wasn't too big, hence the name. I figured it would be easy to find him if he stuck to his routine as closely as Flynn claimed.
I strode inside, keeping an eye out for a man in an Eagles hat.
"Good morning, sunshine," a baritone voice said.
I spun around and groaned at the sight of Niko and Mickey. Niko picked up a handheld shopping cart.
"What are you doing?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"There was another
Similar Books
