Free Brody & Hannigan 02 - Grand Theft Lotto by Paula Graves Page A

throat."

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    "This is crazy." Hannigan paced in quick, tight circles a few feet away from the crime scene, as if the whole gruesome mess offended her personal sense of logic.
    Brody watched her go, secretly enjoying the sight of his partner doing what she did best—worrying the hell out of a problem with all the ferocious intensity of a cat toying with his prey. "It is," he agreed.
    She stopped mid-stride and turned to look at him. "Where did he find a garbage spike?"
    "I don't know."
    "Do you think he brought it with him?"
    "I don't know that, either."
    She shot him a frown of pure frustration and started pacing again. "We have two men, both associated with this gym, murdered by impalement. We have a black Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle seen fleeing both scenes. I might suggest we're dealing with a serial killer. But that makes no sense at all. Of all the crazy-ass ways to kill a person—"
    "I know."
    She paced over to him, stuck her pugnacious little chin out and glared. "Stop humoring me."
    He smiled a little at that. "Sorry."
    She dug her fingers through her hair, shoving the thick, dark bob away from her face. "No, I'm sorry. This is just so—"
    "Crazy," he finished. "I know."
    "What are we missing?"
    "Well, we've got an APB out on the bike. Odds are, he's already changed the license plate from last time—we didn't get a full plate number this time, but what we did get doesn't match the last one."
    "You don't think it could be two different bikes?" she asked, her brow furrowing again.
    "If the COD were different, maybe. But how many times is your cause of death 'impalement by a metal rod'? And add to that the fact that Dwayne and Anton were acquainted—"
    "Just barely," she reminded him. "Anton said he didn't come around here so much after the previous manager left."
    "The implication being that Dwayne might have been mixed up in that steroid investigation mess." Brody eyed the gym. "You know, technically, the gym is a potential crime scene. Anton worked there, and for all we know, the attack on him may have started in there."
    "Nobody's been inside?" she asked, surprised.
    "They concentrated on where the body was found. The door was locked when they arrived, so they figured Anton must have locked it behind him before he was attacked out here in the alley."
    "How did they know to call us in?" she asked.
    "Anton had my card in his pocket. The responding officers found it and called me."
    "I'd really like to take a look inside that gym," she commented. "Would we be within our bounds, legally?"
    "We can't be sure Anton was the last person out," Brody pointed out. "When we left, there were others in the gym. What if someone is inside, injured or worse?"
    "Let's take the chance," she said, already heading over to the taped-off crime scene area. She returned a moment later with a set of keys, carefully held in her gloved hand. "This key looks the newest," she said, pointing to a brass key that was still shiny and crisp-edged. "He said he hadn't been the manager here for long, right?"
    She tried the key in the back door. The deadbolt groaned a little but opened when she turned the key. She and Brody reached for their weapons at the same time and, with cautious care, entered the back of the gym.
    There were no windows in this part of the building. A pinpoint of illumination pierced the darkness—Hannigan's trusty little penlight, Brody saw—as she played the narrow beam across the cinderblock walls of the back room. It was largely unfinished, with a simple concrete floor grimy with age and use, and unpainted metal shelf units lining the walls, holding a hodgepodge of gym cast-offs—dinged-up free weights and dumbbells, twisted or bent weight bars, broken benches and ripped-up heavy bags.
    "Oh, look, it's where old gym equipment goes to die," Brody murmured, earning a sharply arched eyebrow from his partner.
    She shifted the penlight beam to the wall behind them, settling on a