Color of Angels' Souls Read Online Free PDF Page A

attention.
    â€œâ€¦ and the girl wasn’t either!”
    They were talking about the other murder victim.
    â€œOh no, if they didn’t steal anything from her, and she has the same wounds as this guy, then there are only two options. Either we’ve got a serial killer on our hands who just killed two random people—and then we’ll have a lot of fun trying to find him—or it was a double murder, a contract killing. That would be much easier to solve. If you can figure out the motive you can usually figure out who’s behind it. We’ll have to see if we can find any connection between the two victims—besides the fact that they both had their heads cut off with a katana.”
    Jeremy suddenly remembered the young woman who had been walking toward him when he had been killed. Was she the other victim?
    â€œSome time passed between the two murders,” one of the officers said as he looked at his watch. “Judging by the blood, I’d say that this guy was killed about fifteen minutes ago. But the girl, Annabella Dafing, was killed about two hours ago.”
    OK then. So the other victim wasn’t the girl he’d gotten a glimpse of. He felt relieved for some reason. He would have hated to learn that she had been killed because of him, just because she had been a witness to the crime.
    While he was mulling this over, the ambulance carrying his body started to pull away. Panicked at the idea he might lose sight of it, Jeremy began sprinting headlong down the street in pursuit, but he quickly began losing ground. He finally stopped, at a loss to explain how he could be so out of breath: It didn’t seem fair that an “Angel” could cramp up!
    A small boy standing nearby, whose skin color was a mixture of red and blue, gave Jeremy a questioning look: “What are you doing?”
    Jeremy took a moment to catch his breath before answering: “I was trying to catch that ambulance, to follow my body.”
    â€œBy running after it? Very interesting. That class of emergency vehicle can reach speeds of approximately 95 miles per hour, whereas even today’s top athletes, who use legal and not-so-legal performance-enhancing drugs, and who wear specially designed, ultra-lightweight sneakers, can only hope to reach a top speed of approximately twenty-one miles per hour. In my opinion, you don’t stand much of a chance, chum.”
    Well, he may have looked like a small child, but judging by the way he was having fun at Jeremy’s expense, he figured the kid was probably at least two thousand years old. He decided the civil, urbane approach was best, as a bit of politeness never hurt anyone, did it?
    â€œWould you please be so kind as to tell me where they may have been going, my young friend?”
    â€œOh, to the morgue, most likely. Do you know the address? If not I can give it to you. I often go there to dine.”
    â€œTo dine?”
    â€œWhen I can’t find enough positive emotions to eat, I sometimes give in to temptation and swallow a bit of sadness. There’s loads of it down at the morgue.”
    â€œOh. Um … yeah, right. Yes, I would like that address, please.”
    â€œFive-twenty First Avenue. It’s quite simple, actually. Just hop on the Thirty-four bus, change at Rally Station and then take the Tweny-two. It will drop you off right in front of the morgue.”
    â€œThank you so much!”
    Jeremy knew where the bus stop was. Once, when his car was in the shop, he had used public transportation for a whole week. He found the bus stop, and waited for the next bus. And waited.
    And waited …
    And waited …
    When he saw a bus finally coming he got to his feet. He raised his hand for it to stop, but the bus barreled down the street right past him.
    Oh that’s right; he was dead. He’d forgotten. Luckily for him, a living person arrived about a quarter of an hour later for the next bus, and he was able to