Expired by Evie Rhodes Page A

stabbings, yeah. But somebody tossed that boy like a bag of potatoes over the roof. After draining his blood, like they were collecting some kind of sadistic souvenir. The blood wasn’t found at the scene, and it damn sure wasn’t in the body. So what the hell is he doing with it?”
    She blew the hair out of her eyes.
    â€œDamn, Lonzo. I mean, he really stuffed his windpipe with sunflower seeds. What the hell is that all about? Even the ME couldn’t come up with a rational explanation for that one, and he has the whole damn medical and scientific community at his disposal. So why the hell did he do that?”
    Lonzo glanced sideways at her. “How do we know it’s a he?”
    Monica looked at him like he was crazy. “What the hell? Didn’t you read the criminal profile report?”
    Lonzo snorted. “Textbook theories. Could be anybody on the street at this point.”
    â€œWell, ‘anybody’ also had the balls to remove his boots first.”
    â€œYeah,” Lonzo replied.
    â€œA damn street psychopath. Come on, man, you know it’s not a woman. No woman could do that kind of damage to a strong, healthy male without shooting him first. Look, psychopaths and profiles aside, this is probably a street killing,” she speculated.
    â€œWhy the hell would he take his shoes?”
    â€œThey’re jacking and killing each other for their damn sneakers, for goodness’ sake. Whoever did this probably thought he was cute, adding a bit of a serial twist to it. Most likely he’s a very clever, MTV-bred, Michael Jordan sneaker-wearing baby. All the signs are there. And you would notice them if you’d stop daydreaming about what’s under Tracie Burlingame’s skirt.”
    Monica wheeled the car off the ramp. It flew under an overpass, hitting a couple of speed bumps. The car leveled off on a side street. Lonzo held tight to the door frame as he slammed against it, feeling Monica’s fury at the wheel.
    Pissed off, he said, “You want me to daydream about what’s under your skirt instead?”
    He hated working with women cops. Why the hell hadn’t they given him a man for a partner? He didn’t need this grief from this wannabe female.
    At his words, the car jerked to a halt. Monica threw it in park. In one swift motion she backhanded Lonzo in the mouth and jumped from the vehicle. She had totally lost control. A second later she couldn’t believe she had hit him, but it was too late.
    To her surprise, Lonzo jumped out of the car after her. Instead of being angry, he was actually contrite. “I’m sorry, Monie. Maybe I deserved that.”
    She pushed him. He stumbled backward. “You deserve a lot more than that, Lonzo. Tracie Burlingame is a liar. Point-blank. She’s holding back—I feel it. Whoever killed her son is a monster.” She grabbed him by his jacket and shook him. “Do you get it?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œA monster. Monsters have to be taken down or they grow into bigger monsters. I’m not going to let the killer get away, Lonzo. That boy was only sixteen years old. He was in the prime of his life.”
    Lonzo eyed her, shrewdly tapping into a place that she would rather not have gone. “This isn’t about your father’s murder, Monica. And finding all the murderers in Harlem won’t make up for not finding his.”
    Monica’s father was a slain police officer, killed on the streets—case never officially closed, murderer never found.
    Monica took a step back as though he had slapped her. She withdrew. “Just do your job, Lonzo. Do your job. Because daydreaming can get you killed. And if you blow this case, Alexandra Kennedy will have one of your balls for lunch and the other one for dinner. My girl ain’t about to get played out of lunch with the mayor of New York. You’d do best to keep that in mind.” She whirled on him and sauntered to the