Page 62 of Cold, Cold Bones
I was to verify that the loved one was inside the sack. And alone. As stipulated by contract.
I love my job. New day, new adventure.
The second case, MCME 237-22, had come from Burke County, and sat under plastic sheeting on the counter behind me. Which occasionally happens if animal remains are suspected and no odor threatens.
This synopsis was short and meticulously uninformative: bucket with suspicious contents.
I peeked under the plastic. Yup. One bucket. I was about to take a closer look when Slidell thundered through the door.
“Where the goddam hell have you been—”
“Good morning, Detective.”
“You look like crap.”
“Thank you.”
“That hurt?” Cocking his chin in the general direction of my face.
“Not at all.” Smiling. Which was painful.
“I’m going to get the cocksucker. When I do, he’ll wish his mama had died in preschool.”
“Please sit down.” Craning up at Skinny was killing my neck.
Slidell sat. Unbuttoned his jacket. Which was puke green with something brown going on in the weave. Loosened his collar and what passed for a knot on his tie. No guess on the color there.
“This Smith is a nutjob,” Slidell began. “He had fucking carcasses dangling from trees.”
“He’s a prepper.”
“Just a prepper, eh? What about that archive on serial killers? Howdy doody! Slaughter and carnage!”
“The man seems to have an interest in true crime.”
“Seems to?”
“I appreciate you looking into Boldonado and Smith,” I said.
“Eeeh.” Flapping a hand at my face. “What’syourthinking on that?”
“Whoever knocked me down undoubtedly saw me as an intruder.”
“That was one jackass move.”
“What have you learned about Boldonado?” I asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Piccitelli’s lead looks solid. I found an MP report from 2019. Profile fits. White male, forty-nine, five-foot-four. Hawkins is sending Henry prints he lifted off the corpse.”
“Who filed the report?”
“Angelina Boldonado. Frank’s gramma.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently Boldonado was in the habit of taking the old lady to Mass every week, him being her only living relative. One Sunday littleFrankie stopped showing up or answering his phone. Grannie gave it a month, then filed the report.”
“Did you interview Angelina?”
