JК
Cerulean Sins :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 114 из 352Not as bad as earlier, but not as good as I'd felt when I first got out of the Jeep. Great, just great.
There were fewer cops here, and most of them were faces I recognized, members of RPIT. No one questioned my right to be at the scene, or Jason's presence. They trusted me. The uniform on the door looked pale, his dark eyes flashing too much white. "Lieutenant Storr is expecting you, Ms. Blake." I didn't correct the title to marshal. Marshal Blake made me feel like I should have been guest-starring on Gunsmoke.
The uniform opened the door for us because he was wearing rubber gloves. I'd left my crime scene kit at home, because when I raised a zombie for the higher-end clients, Bert liked me to not be covered in a baggy overall. He said it didn't look professional. Once he'd agreed to reimburse me for all dry cleaning incurred from this little rule, I'd agreed.
I told Jason, "Don't touch anything until I get us some gloves."
"Gloves?"
"Surgical gloves, that way if they find a latent print, they won't get all excited and then find out it was yours, or mine."
We were standing in a narrow entryway with stairs leading straight up from the door, a living room to the left, and an opening to the right that led into what looked like a dining room. There was an opening beyond that where I caught a glimpse of countertop and sink.
I couldn't see the color scheme clearly because I was still wearing sunglasses. I debated whether taking them off would make the headache come back. I slipped them off, slowly. I was left blinking painfully, but after a few seconds, it was okay. If I could stay out of direct sunlight I'd probably be all right.
It was Detective Merlioni who walked into the living room and saw us first. "Blake, thought you'd chickened out."
I looked up at the tall man with his curling gray hair cut short. The neck of his white long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, his tie tugged down crooked, as if he'd loosened everything without caring what it looked like. Merlioni hated ties, but he usually tried to be neater than this.
"It must be a bad one," I said.
He frowned at me. "What makes you say that?"
"You've tugged your tie all crooked like you needed air, and you haven't called me girlie or chickie, yet."
He grinned flashing white teeth. "It's early days, chickie."
I shook my head. "Do you have some gloves we can borrow? I wasn't expecting to do a crime scene today."
He glanced at Jason then, as if seeing him for the first time, but I knew he'd seen him. Cops see almost everything around a crime scene. "Who's this?"
"My driver for the day.
There were fewer cops here, and most of them were faces I recognized, members of RPIT. No one questioned my right to be at the scene, or Jason's presence. They trusted me. The uniform on the door looked pale, his dark eyes flashing too much white. "Lieutenant Storr is expecting you, Ms. Blake." I didn't correct the title to marshal. Marshal Blake made me feel like I should have been guest-starring on Gunsmoke.
The uniform opened the door for us because he was wearing rubber gloves. I'd left my crime scene kit at home, because when I raised a zombie for the higher-end clients, Bert liked me to not be covered in a baggy overall. He said it didn't look professional. Once he'd agreed to reimburse me for all dry cleaning incurred from this little rule, I'd agreed.
I told Jason, "Don't touch anything until I get us some gloves."
"Gloves?"
"Surgical gloves, that way if they find a latent print, they won't get all excited and then find out it was yours, or mine."
We were standing in a narrow entryway with stairs leading straight up from the door, a living room to the left, and an opening to the right that led into what looked like a dining room. There was an opening beyond that where I caught a glimpse of countertop and sink.
I couldn't see the color scheme clearly because I was still wearing sunglasses. I debated whether taking them off would make the headache come back. I slipped them off, slowly. I was left blinking painfully, but after a few seconds, it was okay. If I could stay out of direct sunlight I'd probably be all right.
It was Detective Merlioni who walked into the living room and saw us first. "Blake, thought you'd chickened out."
I looked up at the tall man with his curling gray hair cut short. The neck of his white long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, his tie tugged down crooked, as if he'd loosened everything without caring what it looked like. Merlioni hated ties, but he usually tried to be neater than this.
"It must be a bad one," I said.
He frowned at me. "What makes you say that?"
"You've tugged your tie all crooked like you needed air, and you haven't called me girlie or chickie, yet."
He grinned flashing white teeth. "It's early days, chickie."
I shook my head. "Do you have some gloves we can borrow? I wasn't expecting to do a crime scene today."
He glanced at Jason then, as if seeing him for the first time, but I knew he'd seen him. Cops see almost everything around a crime scene. "Who's this?"
"My driver for the day.