Page 69 of Evil Bones
Slidell did his quick segue thing, a trick intended to rattle an interviewee.
“You got pets, Harvard? Maybe a dog or a cat?”
“I have fur allergies, so I keep canaries.”
“You eat a couple of those birds now and again?”
“Jesus. No. What kind of question—”
Slidell’s phone buzzed in his shirt pocket. After checking caller ID, he strode off a few paces and turned one shoulder to us.
“Is he always like this?” Boynton murmured, half under his breath.
“Yes,” I said.
“I have to go, or I’ll be late for a job.”
“What sort of job?”
“I perform as a clown at kids’ parties.”
I was about to comment but Slidell rejoined us.
“Let’s go,” he said to me. To Boynton, “Don’t plan no European vacations. I ain’t done with you.”
Back in the Trailblazer, now truly a bake oven, Skinny explained why he’d cut short the interrogation.
“Nun found another one.”
There was so much to unpack there, my brain struggled to organize questions.
“A nun?” The gray cells settled on that first.
“Sister Mary Adelbert,” he replied, casting a sideways glance at me. “Real name Mariana Kowalski. She’s at St. Peter’s. You’re a mackerel snapper, eh?”
“I was raised Catholic.”
“Why is it nuns chuck the names their parents spent months thinking up for them?”
“Some do, some don’t.” Not wanting to engage in a theological debate, I left it at that. “The nun found another what?”
“Corpse. All dressed up for the show.”
“A fresh body?”
“Not clear.”
“Human?”
“Apparently.”
“Same postmortem treatment? Eyelid stitching, feathers, glitter, one missing body part?”
“Eeyuh.”
“Where?”
“Cordelia Park.”
