Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [481]
Without looking up at her and without waiting for her question, Walter Hobbs shook his head and mumbled, “Why the hell couldn’t he have stayed away and left that fucking quarry alone?”
CHAPTER 7
Luc Racine felt sick to his stomach. And embarrassed—because the dead body hadn’t made him as nauseated as the TV camera did. He had been fine before they turned the camera on him, before the girl reporter had simply asked him questions. He had been more fascinated by the way her eyes bulged behind the thick glasses. Huge and blue, they reminded him of some exotic fish eyes stuck behind a glass tank. But then the glasses came off and the camera went on and it was pointed right at him, right at him like a high-powered rifle sight.
The girl reporter’s questions came faster now. Already he couldn’t remember her name, though she had just introduced herself to the camera lens. Maybe it was Jennifer…or Jessica…no, it was Jennifer. Maybe. He needed to pay closer attention. He couldn’t think and answer as fast as she could ask. And if he didn’t answer quick enough, would she turn her attention to Calvin again?
“I live right over there,” Luc told her, his arm waving high over his shoulder. “And no, I didn’t smell anything unusual,” he added, almost spitting on her. “Not a thing.” She stared at him instead of asking another question. Oh, crap! He had spit on her. He could see it—a little glistening spot on her forehead. “The trees sorta block this area off.” He waved again in the other direction. Maybe she hadn’t noticed the spit. Why did his arm go up so high? “All this area is very secluded.”
“Very remote,” Calvin said, and Luc glanced at him in time to catch the scowl meant especially for Luc, though hidden from the camera by the girl reporter’s back.
But Calvin’s comment caught her attention and now she was turning in his direction again, reaching the microphone up to him. It was a stretch. Calvin Vargus stood well over six feet. Earlier inside the big earthmoving machine, Luc thought Calvin looked like part of the machine—thick, heavy, strong and durable like a giant chunk of steel. Yeah, a chunk of metal with few defining marks, like a neck or waist.
She looked like a dwarf next to Calvin, practically standing on tiptoes to reach the microphone up to his fleshy lips, but content to give Calvin her full attention now, despite his earlier colorful description of the morning’s discovery. Of course she preferred Calvin’s version, especially since he would only say it and not spray it. Who wouldn’t prefer a giant no-neck to an arm-waving spitter?
Luc watched. What else could he do? He’d had his chance and he blew it. And this wasn’t even his first time. He had been on TV before. Once during the anthrax scare. A woman on his route had gotten sick, and Luc had delivered the letter. For a week they closed down the postal station in Wallingford, tested all facilities and grilled the carriers about precautions they should take. Luc had been interviewed on TV, though he hadn’t been allowed to say much. That woman died. What was her name? How long ago was that? Last year? The year before? Certainly it hadn’t been long enough ago that he couldn’t remember her name.
Now he would be on TV again because some other woman was dead. And he didn’t know her name, either. He looked back. They were a safe distance from the crime-scene tape and the deputy who screamed at them anytime they ventured an inch or two closer. Yet Luc could still see the barrel toppled over, its side dented in. One big chunk of brownstone kept it from rolling down the pile of rocks. A blue plastic tarp now covered her, but he could still see the image of that gray-blue arm flung out of the barrel, protruding halfway, as if the body were trying to crawl out. That was