Free The Shore by Robert Dunbar

her palms on her pants, and her left leg seemed to tremble slightly. Well, why shouldn’t she be nervous? I might be a killer after all. He even thought he detected a trace of lipstick. Total amateur. Apparently about to speak, she fumbled in her coat pocket for a notebook. What in hell is she doing here alone? This nervous woman had waited alone for a suspect? And suddenly he placed her as the type who, though nearly paralyzed with fear, inevitably pushed themselves into dangerous situations. Just what I don’t need. It was just this quality that always rendered rookie cops a hazard—that need to prove themselves.
    “Could I have your full name, please?”
    She had the voice of a little girl, he realized, and the officious tone she tried to maintain made him want to laugh. “Funny, you seemed to know it a minute ago.”
    “I mean, just for the record.” She pretended to write something down.
    His nerves must be even worse than he’d thought—such a flimsy routine, and for a moment he’d actually been worried. “Barry Hobbes,” he told her. “I’m an appraiser, doing on-site inspections for an Atlantic City developer.” It amused him to see her tense up as he dug for his wallet. “This is my company’s card. Would you mind sitting down too? It’s been an exhausting day, and you’re making me crane my neck. This weather. Everything aches.” He sank back into the sofa and immediately sneezed as a cloud of dust engulfed him.
    She perched on the arm of the facing sofa. “Did you hurt your hand?”
    He unzipped the jacket. “I stopped in at one of your local taverns, yes. I’m afraid I broke a glass.” He smiled fiercely, forcing his posture to slacken.
    “That would be The Pine Inn,” she continued, struggling to retain an authoritative manner. “It’s the only one that’s open. Awfully brisk night to be out, isn’t it?” She seemed surprised to find herself sitting, and for just an instant, her glance lingered on the way his jacket bunched across his shoulders.
    Good Lord, she likes me. It made him uncomfortable again, and he twisted a button on the front of his shirt, trying to conceal one hand beneath the other. She asked something else, but now the ardent voice maddened him. Run away from me, you little idiot. Suddenly, he wanted to shake her. This isn’t a game, little girl, with your toy badge. You could wind up dead. He stared past her, forcing her to follow his gaze. Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers? You’ll never see anybody stranger than me.
    “Folks, why don’t you turn in now? Like I asked. Mr. Hobbes and I have a few things to discuss.” Her voice betrayed annoyance at finding the D’Amatos still hesitating in the doorway, and with an exchange of worried looks, the couple retreated to their apartment. “We’ve had some trouble as I said, Mr. Hobbes. Have you heard about it?”
    Slowly, his hand rose to brush at his forehead. “Saw something about it on the news.” Seemingly of their own volition, his fingers returned to the loose button. “Terrible thing. Really terrible.” The muscles of his upper arms and shoulders bunched like a boa constrictor as he fidgeted. “Was she a local woman?”
    Her eyes narrowed. The words sounded right, but there was something about his manner, as though the facial expression lagged a beat behind his voice, the effect oddly mechanical. “They haven’t released the identity of the body yet.”
    The button came away in his hand, and he held it in his palm. “But can’t you give me some idea?” A smile of impressive voltage lit his face.
    “We found a car,” she responded. “It’s registered to a dealer at one of the casinos. We don’t know much yet, but it looks like she may have been involved in some pretty shady stuff.” Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to look away from him. “Kept company with some real high rollers.”
    “That’s very interesting. And the body? Is it still here in