Blood Game: A Jock Boucher Thriller Read Online Free PDF

idle. “Looks like a floater,” he said. “Don’t know if you want to see this.”
    “Floater?”
    “A body. Shit. I can smell it.”
    “Remember your language.”
    “I’m warning you, Jock. A floating corpse is not a pretty sight.”
    “Don’t worry about me.”
    They pulled alongside, and Fitch confirmed his sighting. He stepped down to the deck, reached into a storage compartment, and pulled out an armful of netting. “I use this to catch baitfish,” he said. “Hope it’s strong enough.” Hewent to the side, started to cast the net, then stepped back. “God, it is rank. That compartment.” He pointed without turning around. “There’s a blue tarp folded inside. Get it out and spread it on the deck right here.”
    Jock spread the tarp.
    “This thing touches my deck, I’ll never get the smell out,” Fitch said.
    He leaned over and tossed the net, walked the railing till he’d enclosed the corpse, then began pulling. Fitch pulled the body in, threw it on the spread tarp, covered it up, then gagged, leaned over the rail, and vomited. He had dry heaves as he started the engine. Opening the throttle wide, he grabbed his ship-to-shore radio mike, identifying his ship and asking that a coroner meet him at the marina. And someone from NOPD forensics.
    •  •  •
    “White male, mid-fifties,” the forensics expert said. As requested, a team had been waiting when Fitch returned to his slip. “This your case?”
    “Naw,” Fitch said. “Way out of my jurisdiction. But I did discover the body, so I imagine I’ll be asked some questions.”
    “I’m going to get it to the lab. Guess you want to rinse off your boat.”
    “You got that right.”
    Boucher and Fitch didn’t say much on the way home, just listened to the mellow jazz guitar of Pat Metheny on the radio. Boucher’s choice; it was fine with Fitch. They arrived at Boucher’s house. He got out of the car, then leaned back in. “You have a great time on Friday with that schoolteacher.”
    “She’s a principal. Anyway, I’ll be talking to you before then,” Fitch said.
    “About anything in particular?”
    “That body we just fished out of the gulf.”

CHAPTER 4
    B OUCHER ARRIVED AT THE Hale Boggs Federal Building on Monday morning. He felt sorry for the security guard who had to give him the bad news that some higher-up coward didn’t have the courage to do himself.
    “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but your parking space has been reassigned.”
    Wow. A federal judge with no parking. They might as well have sent him to the gulag. The same hapless guard gave him a slip of paper. On it was the number of his new office. Boucher took it in stride. He’d been away, and jurisprudence went on. No doubt senior and retired judges from this and other districts had been called in as temporary replacements, had been assigned his office and his parking space. He was being punished, and they knew how to make it sting. He parked in the nearest public lot and addressed the attendant. “I’m Judge Boucher, and theydon’t have a parking space in the federal building for me right now. I was wondering if you could—”
    “Keep a good spot open for you? Sure. No problem. I do that for a couple attorneys.”
    Who no doubt pay him well for the service, Boucher thought. They made a lot more money than a judge.
    He found his new office after some searching and discovered that, presumably, he’d also been given a new assistant. This assumption was based on the fact that there was a small desk in the outer office of his tiny windowless two-room suite. There was no one seated at it. His few personal possessions had been moved down from his former chambers, so he knew he was in the right place. Three hours later, his phone had not rung, and no one had knocked at his door. He went out for lunch. No one spoke to him in the hall or the elevator. The afternoon was the same. He figured the other judges needed time to determine what assignments they were going to