Read Cold Blood for Free Online

much water as possible. She tossed the bulgur with the other ingredients and chilled the salad in a covered bowl while she made the rest of the meal.
    They ate in the galley; it was too cold to dine on the deck. After lunch, he sprawled out on the couch to watch the Vikings game while she cleaned up. The galley was separated from the living room by a counter. He scrutinized her camel statues, figurines and pillows. “Where’d you get that big wooden one?” he asked. It had a leather saddle and was nearly a foot tall.
    She was loading the dishwasher and froze with a plate in her hand. “What’d you say?” She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
    â€œNever mind,” he mumbled.
    She heard snoring a few seconds later and was relieved. She finished loading the dishwasher. The camel was a gift from Erik Mason, an investigator for the Ramsey County Medical Examiner’s Office. She hadn’t thought Jack would notice a new addition to her collection.
    That night Murphy and Jack sat up in bed; he was in his boxers and she was in an oversized Old Navy tee shirt. She had the remote and switched from one channel to the other. The tall guy was all over the ten-o’clock news; every station led with him. He’d uncovered a clue during the search, and now the Moose Lake cops knew it was murder. Murphy stopped at one station. The reporter tipped her head toward the tall guy, as if the two of them were sharing a secret. “And what did you find?” The way she asked the question—slowly and dramatically—made it clear she already knew the answer.
    The guy paused and swallowed. The camera closed in on his face. He was looking off to the side, as if he was shy, and rubbing the brim of a baseball cap he held in his hands. “A finger. Her p . . . pinkie, I think.”
    â€œA final question,” said the reporter. “Is there anything you want to say to the person or persons who did this to Bunny Pederson?”
    For the first time he looked up and into the camera. “Turn yourself in and tell the p . . . police where you buried her, or you’ll never be able to sleep at n . . . night.”
    The reporter: “Will you be able to sleep tonight, after that horrible find? Expecting nightmares?”
    He smiled, head lowered again. “I’ll be fine, ma’am.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Trip. Back to you in the newsroom, Blake.”
    â€œTrip.” Murphy said. “Why is that name so damn familiar?” She switched from station to station until she finally caught his full name: Justice Trip. “Bastard’s everywhere,” she said. “Dammit. I wish I could remember.”
    Jack grabbed the remote and pulled it out of her hands. “Why’d you put a set up here when you’ve already got one downstairs? I don’t like a television in the bedroom.”
    â€œFine. Then don’t put one in your bedroom.” She grabbed the remote back and switched to another channel. Justice Trip on that news station as well. She studied his face; that weird earlobe. She said suddenly, “Wait. I know how I know him. Sweet Justice.” She threw the remote at Jack and hopped out of bed.
    â€œBabe. It can wait,” he yelled after her. “Who gives a shit?”
    She thumped down the stairs. He heard her opening and closing cupboard doors and throwing stuff around while talking to herself. “Where is it? I just had it out.” She ran back upstairs and climbed under the covers; it was cold downstairs and her feet were icy. She tucked them under Jack’s legs.
    Jack looked over her shoulder while she flipped through the slender volume. “What’s this?”
    â€œSt. Brice High yearbook.”
    â€œYou went to school with him?” Jack nodded toward the television. Trip was still on the screen, but Jack had hit the mute button.
    â€œYup.” She pointed to his photo. In the sea of