Free Charity Kills (A David Storm Mystery) by Jon Bridgewater Page B

little too early in the day for you?”
    Russell got himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “Yep, you’re right, it’s way too early for me, but sometimes a guy has to make an exception.” Carrying the coffee pot, Russell refilled Grady’s cup as he continued. “You remember that pard of mine, Dave Storm?”
    “Yep, sure do. Indian kid who was one helluva football player back in the day. He’s the cop whose wife was murdered a few years ago ain’t he?”
    “That’s him.”
    “What did he do that got you up and made you come to the station this early on a Sunday? He a medicine man now or something and have a premonition about a hurricane and ask you to come check?” Grady laughed at his own joke. Grady and Russell had shared a lot over the past twenty-five years—drinks, stories, good natured ribbing, but most importantly, respect. Not many still existed in their world with the history they had.
    “Nope. He had a question about something I couldn’t answer and he asked if I would do some research for him.”
    “Something to do with the station?” Grady knew Storm was a homicide detective, and Russell could tell the implication bothered him.
    “No, just a question about history.”
    “Maybe I can help.” Grady had probably forgotten more than most people remembered, Russell figured.
    “What I was hoping for when I saw you. Did you know a girl was found dead at the Dome this morning?”
    “Yeah, it just broke. Why?” Russell could see the questions begin to flicker in the older man’s eyes.
    “Storm caught the case. He will be the detective in charge of the investigation”
    “Really?! You gonna tell Sweet Britches about it?” “Sweet Britches” was what they dubbed any new self-important female reporter who thought she was going to be the next Connie Chung. At the station now that person was Christine Chu, a beautiful Vietnamese girl just out of the University of Texas who was already charging headlong into the fray to move up the ladder as fast as her gorgeous legs would carry her.
    “No, let her find out on her own,” Russell scoffed. “But have you heard anything?”
    “Nothing much, just that they found a body. Chu jumped on it and ran out with her infatuated camera boy to find out what she could. They haven’t broadcast anything back yet. I am sure the Show will release their normal bullshit statement like ‘it is unfortunate and our deepest sympathies go out the victim’s family, but as yet we have no further information. When we get an update from local law enforcement we will be of any help we can be to the investigation.’ Blah, blah, blah.”
    “Storm know anything about it yet?” Grady asked, now looking to Russell for clues.
    “Storm said they found her name off a picture identification in her purse, and they found some clothing thrown somewhere nearby. He told me someone had slit her throat, but she was moved to a dumpster after she bled out. Early this morning they had found her body in a dumpster outside the new stadium but still hadn’t found a bloody crime scene.”
    “What did he think you could do? Check your datebook for girls the right age?” Grady smiled, obviously tickled at his question, as he waited for Russell to tell him why he was really here.
    “No, smart ass, he heard something that puzzled him and he asked me to look into it. You remember Hernandez, the cop that lost his leg a few years ago when his partner was killed in that drug bust gone bad?”
    “Yeah, that was a shame. The kid that died was young, just out of the academy, wasn’t he?”
    “Yep, the same guy, and yes, the kid was young only like twenty-three, I think. Anyway, he‘s working the homicide desk downtown and said something to Storm about his having caught ‘another murder’ at the Dome.” Russell looked over at Grady. “Do you know anything about any other murders that have taken place around the Dome area during this time of year?”
    “Yeah, seems like I did hear something