The Killing Game. J. Kerley A.
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“Thank you. Uh, listen Detective Ryder, I mean Carson, I was wondering if you might want to—”
“Well, well,” a big voice boomed. “I’d heard there was an encore performance.” Harry was leaning in the doorway, a Cheshire-cat grin on his face.
“I’ll get back to you,” Wendy said. “Next class maybe.” She scooted past Harry, saying hi. My partner spent a couple of self-indulgent seconds watching Holliday glide down the hall before turning to me.
“School’s still in session?”
I shrugged. “I figured I started it, so I should finish it. That’s the way it’s supposed to go, right?”
“I saw Shumuchuru in the property room laughing like he’d hit the daily double. He said you’d promised to take his next two all-night stakeouts if he let you finish teaching the course.”
Snitch. I said, “Um …”
“So how much of your return to the classroom is due to that pretty little lady who just walked away?”
Harry had been my best friend for a decade. He knew everything about me, including things I either didn’t know or didn’t acknowledge.
“Ten per cent,” I sighed. “Maybe fifteen.”
“And the other eighty-five to ninety per cent?”
“I actually enjoy the class.”
“Which should be celebrated,” Harry said. “I’m thinking beer.”
We settled on a cheapie bar a few blocks distant and I finished putting my materials away. We were heading out the door when my cell trilled, screen showing Tom Mason.
“You still at the academy, Carson?” Tom asked.
“I’ve been arguing pedagogical theory with an fellow academician, Tom,” I said, winking at Harry. “What can Professor Nautilus and I do for you?”
“Harry’s there? Good. A body was just found along a bike path near there, by the university …”
Harry’d parked in a lot one building over so we jumped in my truck and stuck the flasher to the roof. Three heart-pounding minutes later I sailed past a pair of cruisers, uniformed officers setting flares to divert traffic.
A hundred feet further I saw scene techs circling an object on the ground and pulled over. The area was lit by headlamps from the cruisers and we felt a rush of relief at seeing Holliday at the periphery, looking unsteady but alive. She had a bright orange helmet in one hand, the other was holding up a bicycle.
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