Bones Never Lie by Kathy Reichs EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Kathy Reichs
- Language: English
- Genre:Conspiracy Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I received the message rst thing Monday morning. Honor Barrow
needed me at an unscheduled meeting.
Not what I wanted, with cold germs rolling up their sleeves in my
head.
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Nevertheless, coming o a weekend of Sudafed, Afrin, and lemonhoney tea, instead of nishing a report on a putreed biker, I joined
a billion others slogging uptown in rush-hour trac.
By seven-forty-ve, I was parked at the back of the Law
Enforcement Center. The air was cool and smelled of sun-dried
leaves—I assumed. My nose was so clogged, I couldn’t sni out the
dierence between a tulip and a trash can.
The Democrats had held their quadrennial soirée in Charlotte in
2012. Tens of thousands came to praise or protest and to nominate a
candidate. The city had spent $50 million on security, and as a
result, the ground oor of the Law Enforcement Center, once an
open lobby, now looked like the bridge of the starship Enterprise.
Circular wooden barrier. Bulletproof glass. Monitors displaying the
building’s every scar and pimple, inside and out.
After signing the register, I swiped my security card and rode to
the second oor.
Barrow was passing as the elevator hummed to a stop and
opened. Beyond him, through the door he was entering, arrows on a
green background directed Crimes Against Property to the left, Crimes
Against Persons to the right. Above the arrows, the hornet’s-nest
symbol of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department.
“Thanks for coming in.” Barrow barely broke stride.
“No problem.” Except for the kettledrums in my head and the re
in my throat.
I followed Barrow through the door, and we both turned right.
Detectives crowded the corridor in both directions, most in
shirtsleeves and ties, one in khaki pants and a navy golf shirt
featuring the intrepid wasp logo. Each carried coee and a whole lot
of repower.
Barrow disappeared into a room on the left marked by a second
green sign: 2220: Violent Crimes Division. Homicide and assault with
a deadly.
I continued straight, past a trio of interview rooms. From the
nearest, a baritone bellowed indignation in strikingly inharmonious
terms.
Ten yards down I entered a room identied as 2101: Homicide
Cold Case Unit.
A gray table and six chairs took up most of the square footage. A
copy machine. File cabinets. White erasable board and brown
corkboards on the walls. In the rear, a low-rise divider set o a desk
holding the usual phone, mug, withered plant, and overlled in- and
out-baskets. A window threw rectangles of sunlight across the
blotter.
Not a soul in sight. I glanced at the wall clock. 7:58.
Seriously? Only I had arrived on time?
Head pounding and slightly peeved, I dropped into a chair and
placed my shoulder bag at my feet.
On the table were a laptop, a cardboard carton, and a plastic tub.
Both containers bore numbers on their covers. The ones on the tub
were in a format familiar to me: 090431070901. The le dated to
April 30, 2009. A single call had come in at 7:09 A.M.
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