Dead Fall by Matt Hilton Page B

occasional breeze carried the tang of brine, and close enough to Causeway Boulevard that the exhaust fumes of vehicles passing to and from Clair Mel practically overwhelmed the smell of the sea.
    â€œAnd what brings you to Palmetto Beach,” the detective asked, “or rather this end of Palmetto Beach? It’s not as if you’ve chosen the nicest lookout over the bay. I’d have thought Desoto Park was more your kind of place for passing time.”
    â€œDidn’t say that I was passing time, I said I was passing. I had business down on Lehman Street.”
    â€œWhat kind off business?”
    â€œThe private kind.”
    â€œAnd if I were to ask them, the port authority cops would confirm that?” Lehman Street was deep in the port district and the area heavily monitored by Tampa Port Authority officers.
    â€œKnock yourself out,” I said, my face flat and concealing the lie. “If you want to waste time checking on my movements instead of concentrating on finding Candice’s murderer?”
    â€œMaybe you’re one and the same. Oh, no, wait! You don’t do your vigilante thing to women and kids, do you? Just the bad guys that deserve it.”
    â€œAllegedly.”
    â€œAllegedly, my ass.” Holker shook his head, his mouth twisting in a lopsided smile. “I’m just ragging you, man. I know this isn’t your style.”
    Eyeing the formless shape beneath the stained sheet, I said, “Any idea whose style it is?”
    â€œLike I said, I just got here a few minutes ago. I haven’t come to any conclusions yet. And—even if I had—I wouldn’t be sharing them with you. No offense, but it doesn’t help my clean-up rate when my prime suspect turns up dead.”
    I didn’t respond to his words. There wasn’t much point. Like a number of cops in Tampa, Florida, Ben Holker had made his mind up about me. But like those others, he’d realized that my worth as an ally in their fight against crime was more than the trouble of trying to put me away. Some had even gone as far as helping me out with information on certain criminals, particularly those that lawful process couldn’t touch. It was a mutual arrangement of sorts. Their badges wouldn’t allow the kind of proactive law enforcement I took to those villains’ doors.
    â€œThis isn’t Candice’s patch,” I pointed out.
    â€œI’m aware of that, Hunter.” She was generally found working the street corners between East Seventh and East Palm Avenues in Ybor City. “Maybe she was picked up by a shy john who wanted to find somewhere more private for their dirty rendezvous.”
    â€œMaybe,” I concurred. “How’d she die?”
    Holker thought about divulging the information, but realized that soon enough it would be readily available via all the media channels. “Nine millimeter to the back of the head.” He made a gun out of his fingers and mimed shooting.
    â€œAny sign of rape?”
    â€œHunter, you know what business Candice was in. How would I tell?”
    â€œI’m talking scratches, bruises, as if she tried to fight off an attacker,” I said.
    Holker shook his head. “That’s the damndest thing. Apart from the hole in her skull there are no other signs of injury. I know what you’re thinking: why’d a john bring her all the way here, then shoot her without having his wicked way first?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m thinking,” I agreed. “If sexual gratification wasn’t the motive, Candice was lured here and then shot for another reason.”
    â€œShit. Listen to you. You sure you don’t want me to get you a nice new detective badge to flash around?”
    â€œHolker, you can like me, or you can hate me, but you have to admit I’m right.”
    â€œPersonally I don’t give a damn about you one way or another. Right now you’re stopping me from doing