Bad Blood
“The hatch was two feet by two and a half, and Jim had been generous on the cut, which made the frame about four feet square. Or possibly rhomboidal, Kate thought.Just getting it into the Cessna was awkward as hell, and into the trunk of a cab in Anchorage a virtual impossibility. Finally they paid off the cab with a ten-dollar bill and called Brillo at the crime lab. Twenty minutes later, a skinny lab assistant who was at a generous estimate eleven and a half years old showed up in a fire engin...e red GMC Sierra extended-cab pickup. For him, it was a long jump down from the cab. “Sergeant Chopin?” He gave Kate the once-over, and brightened from behind thick glasses with Buddy Holly rims. “And—?” Mutt stuck her head out from behind Kate, and he paled. “Is that a wolf?” he said in a faint voice.“Only half,” Kate said. By now the reply was ritual. Something bad might happen if she didn’t give it.“Just help me get this thing into the back of your truck,” Jim said.Kate, to make up for his lack of civilized manners, beamed one of her better smiles.The lab assistant, who when he regained the vertical and got his tongue untied introduced himself as Steve, unhooked his tailgate and helped Jim maneuver the hatch and frame into the back of the Sierra.MoreLess
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