Before She Dies Read Online Free PDF Page B

rotted.” He pulled hard, and the stake wriggled free of the floor and the victim’s palm. Carefully, he moved to the other side and repeated. Then it was on to the feet. The last stake proved stubborn and it took assistance from Rokov to free it.
    Paulie laid the stakes out and photographed them. Then very carefully, he turned the body on its side. The victim’s jacket was embossed with the word Magic. He checked the jacket’s label. “Tanner’s.”
    Rokov recognized the retailer. “Tanner’s is a shop in Old Town. It has a solid reputation of making custom leather jackets.”
    Rokov pulled a notebook from his pocket and wrote down the detail along with the dozens of others he’d noted since he entered the room.
    “Okay. You keep doing your thing here,” Rokov said. “Sinclair and I will beat the streets. Maybe somebody saw something.”
    Outside, Rokov found Sinclair by the car on her radio. She looked pale but determined. “Thanks. If you get a match, give me a call.”
    “No matches.”
    “Not yet. But she might not have been missing twenty-four hours yet.”
    “Her jacket is unique. The seller is located in Old Town. I’ll double check, but I think he opens at ten.”
    “Good.” Sinclair rubbed the back of her neck. “Last night was a Monday night in late October. The streets would have been packed with tourists taking ghost tours and hitting the bars.”
    “The retail shops would have been closed by ten, but the bars would have been open until twelve, one, or two.”
    “Give or take a few hours, she died last night about one.”
    “Yeah. There’s O’Malley’s on the corner. It’s as good a place as any to start. Maybe someone saw someone here.”
    Rokov waved to Barrows, Sinclair nodded, and the detectives made their way across the parking lot. Quick strides got them across the street to O’Malley’s.
    The pub was on the corner of Union and Prince in a three-level town house that had been built a hundred-plus years ago. Built of old brick, the building had a large glass window with gold lettering and green café curtains. The historic look appealed to tourists.
    “This is ground zero for the city’s tourist industry,” Sinclair said. “The press is going to eat this up.”
    Rokov glanced back at the murder scene. “They’ll be here within the hour, and the story will be on the news by lunch.” He worked hard to push aside circumstances that he could not control. But when it came to the press, his success rate was mixed. “The only way to diffuse the story is to solve the case as quickly as possible.”
    “A closed case would be a great way to start the week.”
    Rokov glanced inside O’Malley’s, and when he saw the flicker of movement in the back, he pounded on the front door with his fist. For a moment, the bar’s interior went silent, and then footsteps sounded inside.
    A tall, lean man, sporting a black five o’clock shadow, stopped about twenty feet short of the door. He wore a white apron over T-shirt and jeans. A bar towel hung carelessly over his right shoulder.
    “We’re closed until three,” he shouted.
    The man was already turning toward the kitchen when Rokov tapped on the glass and held up his badge. The barman turned, his face dark with frustration.
    “We have a few questions,” Rokov said.
    The man hesitated and shook his head, as if the cops were the last complication he’d expected or needed. Finally, he moved toward the door and unlatched the deadbolt. Bells jingled above as the door opened, and the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke rushed out to greet them. “Someone filing a complaint?”
    “Should they?” Sinclair said.
    The barman shifted his gaze to her and let it roam slowly and freely up her frame. He didn’t smile, or leer, just absorbed every detail of her. Sinclair arched a brow but didn’t flinch.
    “You got a name?” Rokov said.
    “Richardson,” he said, pulling his gaze from Sinclair. “Duke Richardson. I own