A Smile On the Face of the Tiger
“Louise said. “I’ll bet it looks like Omaha Beach.”We were breathing the countrified air in the Hazel Park living room, she in a maple platform rocker with an afghan slung over the back, me sunk in one of the slipcovered armchairs with my feet up on an ottoman made out of an antique doll trunk. We were drinking coffee. She’d offered alcohol, but I’d declined. I didn’t explain that it wouldn’t do to ingest an anticoagulant on the off-chance of an intracranial hemorrhage.“I’ve seen a couple,” I sa...id. “It looks more like a spider sac. The bone’s pretty thick. I didn’t need a guy with eighteen years of schooling to tell me that.”“I don’t suppose I’m the first person to suggest you consider changing professions.”“Detecting isn’t a profession. It’s a job, like pouring steel or operating a crane. You do what you’re trained for. I’m a good detective. It just so happens I get doors slammed in my face and occasionally someone drops a piano on my head.MoreLess
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