“You ever work a homicide before, Pritkin?” Braden asked him. “No, sir.” “Borland says you’re good with paperwork and computers. I’ll need some help there. Like with this VICAP program? You know it?” “You get me a copy of your crime scene report and the autopsy protocol and the rest of it, Detective Braden, I’ll be logged on with Quantico the same day.” “Good,” Braden said. Maybe this arrangement would work out after all. He had pulled Pritkin out of the Bright Spot. Now he glanced through the water-streaked window into the diner-styled coffee shop, where Harry Malkowski sat alone in a red vinyl-covered booth. “You talk to him at all?” he asked the deputy. “No, sir. Sheriff Borland said I should just baby-sit him.” “Good. You can wait in your car or I’ll see you back at the station. I don’t want to crowd this kid too much.” “Yes, sir.” “And don’t call me sir.” “Yes, uh … Detective.” “Call me Braden.” Deputy Pritkin grinned sheepishly.
