was trying to make it to the north side of the tracks, hoping to flag someone down, when he caught up to her on the edge of a dirt path obscured from the road by the railway hut. His head and shoulders might have been seen, but between the brush and the hut, she wouldn’t have been seen at all. She was trapped. MacNeice followed the solid white line around the curve as a schoolbus came down the mountain towards him.
In the cruiser, Rankin closed his eyes and waited for the impact, wondering how the hell he was going to explain why he had sat there while a schoolbus took out the finest homicide cop in the city. Hearing nothing, he opened his eyes again. The bus had stopped to let MacNeice cross; the driver even flipped out his little stop sign to halt traffic in both directions. MacNeice gave a littlewave of thanks when he made it to the mountain side of the road.
Rankin was breathing so heavily his windscreen had fogged up. He turned on the defroster but couldn’t find MacNeice again in the downpour. He took the napkin from his muffin and wiped a clear spot in the fog; MacNeice was now standing on the side of the road, staring directly at a house across the street from him. Without looking either way, he walked across the road and stood staring down at the driveway. “He may be God, but he’s totally nuts,” Rankin muttered. MacNeice was squatting now, the rain coming down so hard it was zipping up all around him, but Rankin could see him touching the ground and then smelling his fingers.
He stood up, looked about and turned to stare back across the road. Rankin rubbed a larger hole in the fog. Again without looking for traffic, MacNeice made his way back down the hill. The water was running in streams along the side of the road, but he splashed through the puddles as if they weren’t there. As he approached the cruiser on the driver’s side, Rankin rolled down the window. “Find what you wanted, sir?” MacNeice was soaked, his hair shining black and stuck to his forehead. He had a big smile on his face.
“I did, Officer—”
“Rankin, sir. Stephen Rankin.”
“Rankin, this was local talent.”
“Sir?”
“Homegrown.” He tapped the roof of the cruiser, smiled down at Rankin and added, “You take care now.”
Rankin looked in his rear-view mirror, trying to spot where this crazy man had gone, but the back window was so fogged up he couldn’t see anything. He lowered his window to check the side mirror and, sure enough, as MacNeice began his U-turn, Rankin could see he was still smiling.
Rankin’s radio burped into life. “Rankin, Vittelli here. He still on the road? Over.”
“Ah, nope, he’s just turning down the hill. Happy as a loon. Wet as one too. Over.”
“You just met a genius. Over.”
“Scared the shit outta me. Over.” The radio rattled with Vittelli’s laughter.
15 .
A S HE SWUNG the metal door open and entered the lab, MacNeice stopped in his tracks. Junior was slamming what looked like a kitchen knife into a doubled-over foam mattress while Mary Richardson leaned against the autopsy table on which a white plastic sheet covered, he assumed, the remains of Taaraa Ghosh. Richardson was wearing a dark grey suit and a pale blue blouse under her white lab coat, and she appeared amused by whatever her young assistant was doing.
Glancing MacNeice’s way, she said, “Ah, Detective. I was expecting you earlier.”
“I’m sorry. I got caught in the rain up at the mountain and had to go home and change.”
With a wry smile she looked down at the clipboard she held. “Ah, the ‘mountain,’ yes. I prefer the term escarpment, but then, I’ve seen real mountains.” She pushed herself away from the table, causing the body beneath the sheet to shake slightly. “Well, this young woman may have been unique for someone her age, someone so pretty …”
The violent thumping and grunting from the assistant in the corner distracted them both. Junior appeared, at least to MacNeice,
In the cruiser, Rankin closed his eyes and waited for the impact, wondering how the hell he was going to explain why he had sat there while a schoolbus took out the finest homicide cop in the city. Hearing nothing, he opened his eyes again. The bus had stopped to let MacNeice cross; the driver even flipped out his little stop sign to halt traffic in both directions. MacNeice gave a littlewave of thanks when he made it to the mountain side of the road.
Rankin was breathing so heavily his windscreen had fogged up. He turned on the defroster but couldn’t find MacNeice again in the downpour. He took the napkin from his muffin and wiped a clear spot in the fog; MacNeice was now standing on the side of the road, staring directly at a house across the street from him. Without looking either way, he walked across the road and stood staring down at the driveway. “He may be God, but he’s totally nuts,” Rankin muttered. MacNeice was squatting now, the rain coming down so hard it was zipping up all around him, but Rankin could see him touching the ground and then smelling his fingers.
He stood up, looked about and turned to stare back across the road. Rankin rubbed a larger hole in the fog. Again without looking for traffic, MacNeice made his way back down the hill. The water was running in streams along the side of the road, but he splashed through the puddles as if they weren’t there. As he approached the cruiser on the driver’s side, Rankin rolled down the window. “Find what you wanted, sir?” MacNeice was soaked, his hair shining black and stuck to his forehead. He had a big smile on his face.
“I did, Officer—”
“Rankin, sir. Stephen Rankin.”
“Rankin, this was local talent.”
“Sir?”
“Homegrown.” He tapped the roof of the cruiser, smiled down at Rankin and added, “You take care now.”
Rankin looked in his rear-view mirror, trying to spot where this crazy man had gone, but the back window was so fogged up he couldn’t see anything. He lowered his window to check the side mirror and, sure enough, as MacNeice began his U-turn, Rankin could see he was still smiling.
Rankin’s radio burped into life. “Rankin, Vittelli here. He still on the road? Over.”
“Ah, nope, he’s just turning down the hill. Happy as a loon. Wet as one too. Over.”
“You just met a genius. Over.”
“Scared the shit outta me. Over.” The radio rattled with Vittelli’s laughter.
15 .
A S HE SWUNG the metal door open and entered the lab, MacNeice stopped in his tracks. Junior was slamming what looked like a kitchen knife into a doubled-over foam mattress while Mary Richardson leaned against the autopsy table on which a white plastic sheet covered, he assumed, the remains of Taaraa Ghosh. Richardson was wearing a dark grey suit and a pale blue blouse under her white lab coat, and she appeared amused by whatever her young assistant was doing.
Glancing MacNeice’s way, she said, “Ah, Detective. I was expecting you earlier.”
“I’m sorry. I got caught in the rain up at the mountain and had to go home and change.”
With a wry smile she looked down at the clipboard she held. “Ah, the ‘mountain,’ yes. I prefer the term escarpment, but then, I’ve seen real mountains.” She pushed herself away from the table, causing the body beneath the sheet to shake slightly. “Well, this young woman may have been unique for someone her age, someone so pretty …”
The violent thumping and grunting from the assistant in the corner distracted them both. Junior appeared, at least to MacNeice,
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