Free Hornet's Nest by Patricia Cornwell Page A

kept him, he made sure his eyes were very blue and crossed. Owners fell for that, and predictably, she snatched him up and petted him. Niles was happy enough.
    West wasn’t. The next day when she got to work, Hammer was waiting for her deputy chief, and everybody seemed to know it. West left her Bojangles breakfast without even opening the bag. She dropped everything and hurried down the hall. West almost ran into Hammer’s outer office and felt like giving Horgess the finger. He very much enjoyed West’s negative reaction to being summoned like this.
    “Let me call her,” Horgess said.
    “Let me let you.” West didn’t disguise how surly she felt.
    Horgess was young, and had shaved his head. Why? Soon he would dream of hair. He would lust after it. He would watch movies starring people with hair.
    “She’ll see you now,” Horgess said, hanging up the phone.
    “I’m sure.” West gave him a sarcastic smile.
    “For God’s sake, Virginia,” Hammer said the instant West walked in.
    The chief was gripping the morning paper, shaking it, and pacing. Hammer didn’t wear pants often, but today she was in them. Her suit was a deep royal blue, and she wore a red and white striped shirt and soft black leather shoes. West hadto admit, her boss was stunning. Hammer could cover or show her legs without gender being an issue.
    “Now what?” Hammer railed on. “Four businessmen four weeks in a row. Carjackings, in which the killer changes his mind, leaves the cars? Robberies? A weird hourglass symbol spray-painted on the victims’ groins? Make and model, names, professions. Everything but the damn crime-scene photos right there for all the world to see!”
    The headline was huge:
     
    BLACK WIDOW KILLER CLAIMS FOURTH VICTIM
     
    “What was I supposed to do?” West said.
    “Keep him out of trouble.”
    “I’m not a baby-sitter.”
    “A businessman from Orlando, a salesman from Atlanta, a banker from South Carolina, a Baptist minister. From Tennessee. Welcome to our lovely city.” Hammer tossed the paper on a couch. “What do we do?”
    “Letting him ride wasn’t my idea,” West reminded her.
    “What’s done is done.” Hammer sat behind her desk. She picked up the phone and dialed. “We can’t get rid of him. Got any idea how that would look? On top of all the rest of it?” Her eyes glazed as the mayor’s secretary answered. “Listen, Ruth, get him now. I don’t care what he’s doing.” Hammer started drumming polished nails on the blotter.
    West was in a worse mood when she left her boss’s office. It wasn’t fair. Life was hard enough, and she was beginning to wonder about Hammer. What did West know about her, anyway, except that she had come to Charlotte from Chicago, a huge city where people froze their asses off half the year and the mob had its way with public officials. Next thing, Hammer sailed here, that housewife husband of hers tagging along.
     
    Brazil wasn’t pleased with his circumstances, either. He was punishing himself again this morning, pounding up bleacher steps in the stadium where the Davidson Wildcats lost everyfootball game, even some they hadn’t played, it seemed. He was going at it and didn’t care if he had a heart attack or was sore tomorrow. Deputy Chief West was a lowlife cowboy and as insensitive as shit, and Chief Hammer wasn’t at all what he had fantasized. Hammer could have at least smiled or glanced at him and made him feel welcome last night. Brazil headed back up the steps again, sweat leaving gray spots on cement.
     
    Hammer wanted to hang up on the mayor. She had just about enough of his unimaginative way of solving problems.
    “I understand the medical examiner believes these murders have a homosexual connection,” he was saying over the phone.
    “That’s one opinion,” Hammer answered. “The fact is that we don’t know. All the victims were married with children.”
    “Exactly,” he slyly said.
    “For God’s sake, Chuck, don’t pile this on