Free Hot Stuff by Don Bruns

it’s not worth discussing.”
    â€œYou said it brought your whole world down.”
    â€œIt’s in the past, Skip. My position in this world has evolved, okay? Let’s leave it there.”
    I drove down the street, not even thinking about the automobile I commanded. I was always there for Em. We went to bed and never touched each other till morning, when she gave me a chaste kiss. James picked me up at nine and asked me how the night had been. I never gave him an answer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

    James was in the permanently reclined recliner. I sat on the beer-stained sofa sipping the last Yuengling beer.
    â€œMaybe the cop thing is a good idea.” I couldn’t believe he was admitting that playing along with the cops was a positive thing.
    â€œYou? You’re admitting that it might be a good idea to team up with the professionals?”
    â€œI want to know the wound reports. Do you think that the cops might give that up? They have the information.”
    â€œWound reports?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
    â€œYou know. Do the wounds telegraph what kind of knife was used in the stabbing? How deep were the cuts? Did it take some strong guy, or could a slight woman make those wounds? We need to know this kind of stuff, Skip, if we want to be serious investigators.”
    I nodded.
    â€œYou know, I’ve cut enough meat in school and in restaurants to know that flesh, muscles, and other organs are flexible. They contract, they expand. With that in mind, you could stabsomeone with a short knife, and as you push the blade, you could go in a lot deeper than the blade is long. I’ve done it. But I’ve never wondered what kind of a knife someone is using. We need to know if there’s a science to stab wounds. At least that would make sense to me.”
    I’m sure he was right.
    â€œWhat did they find in the alley? I mean, were there foreign fibers on the body? Was there evidence of someone else’s blood? If this guy, this hotshot detective, really is willing to share information, we could learn a lot, Skip.”
    I nodded. There was a certain amount of maturity in his outlook. A maturity that wasn’t there in the past.
    â€œWhile you and I are in that kitchen—”
    â€œWhile you’re in that kitchen, James. I’m out of there. No more dishwashing. Please understand that.”
    â€œWhile
we’re
in there, we need to be looking at knives, right? If I knew something about what kinds of wounds certain knives make, I could see what kind of knives the cooks are using.”
    It actually made sense.
    My cell phone erupted with the Springsteen anthem, “Born in the U.S.A.” I really needed to update the ring.
    â€œSkip, I need the knife that James found in his locker.” Emily sounded a little icy, matter-of-fact.
    â€œWe were just talking about—why do you need the knife?”
    â€œFingerprints.”
    â€œI’m sure James’s are all over it.” James had pulled it from the apron, and even passed it to— “Oops. Mine are on it too.”
    â€œSo they’ll take that into consideration,” she said. I heard another voice in the background. “Listen, I talked to Ted, and he thinks—”
    â€œTed?”
    â€œThe detective, remember?”
    â€œOh, it’s become Ted? Not Detective Conway?”
    â€œHe’d like to examine the knife, Skip.” Cold, impersonal.
    I glanced at James. “You got the knife?”
    â€œMine?”
    â€œThe one from your locker. The Wüsthof that was sticking through the catsup-stained apron.”
    â€œIt’s still in the locker. Along with my Wüsthof.”
    â€œSkip, I heard that. Can you get it?”
    â€œIf you and
Ted
think it’s important.”
    â€œWhat I think is that the faster we resolve any questions, the faster we can wrap this up.” I felt the icy chill coming through the phone.
    â€œYeah.