Turner Jackson knew he was taking a chance kidding around about a good- looking white woman, especially a blonde one who could have just stepped out of Playboy. He had known Bill Manners since before Police Academy, and he knew he was no racist: still, a lot of good white men grabbed for their sheets and crosses when they saw black eyes on smooth white flesh. She was a real looker, all right, and she knew it. Turner could see that as well as he could see the curvaceous outline of her firm breasts beneath her pajama top; she might come in with the innocent bit, but this one was no Sunday-school virgin!
«Over there, Officers … that's the window he broke. We left everything just as we found it. I saw them do that on a TV show just last week. That was the right thing to do, wasn't it?» She was smiling now and her face had all the well-scrubbed beauty of the girl next door; it was hard to see any of Kate Barrett in this vivacious young creature. Kate's looks were tough and hard, Lucy was as soft and cuddly as a kitten once her mother was out of the room. And both Bill Manners and Turner Jackson were thinking just how soft and cuddly she would be … safely tucked away beneath the sheets.
Manners made all the necessary notes for his report; there was no point in sending the crime truck around for fingerprints. He knew there would not be any. There was tape on the glass and it had been cut in a circle by a glass-cutter; this was obviously no neighborhood teenager or hungry wino. It had to be a professional break-in artist, even though he blew it when the glass slipped and crashed to the kitchen tile floor, and professionals did not leave fingerprints.