stabbing into the darkness. Nothing appeared out of place.
The odor of cordite commingled with the remnants of the intruder’s musty smell, both now laced with another aroma. What was it? She knew it, had smelled it before, but couldn’t identify it.
She swiped the wall beside the door, searching for a light switch, finding none. A desk with brass lamp sat to her left. She yanked the pull chain; the light pushed back some of the shadows.
The room was wide and deep, with soaring ceilings. Racks and tables of clothing and supplies filled most of the floor and wall space. Everything appeared in order, quiet, until she looked down. Several bloody shoe prints on the hardwood floor led from behind a rack of flannel shirts, past where she stood, and out the door.
Despite the cold, sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts, and slicked the palms of her hands. Her gun pointed the way as she circled the rack of shirts, stepping carefully around the shoe prints to avoid damaging the evidence. The blood added a healthy dose of caution and fear to her every movement.
The thought that she had no business being there crossed her mind.
She rounded the display rack and froze. A body lay on the floor. A man, on his back, unmoving, wearing a red and yellow checked flannel shirt and beige down vest. A pool of black cherry blood fanned out from his left ear, which like the entire left side of his face, was crushed and discolored. Two eyes as black as pools of oil stared up at her. She directed the light beam at them. No pupillary reaction.
Chapter 7
The jangle of the phone ripped through the dark studio apartment Police Chief Forest Wade called home. Cramped and drafty, it wasn’t much, but it conveniently occupied the upper floor of the Gold Creek Police Department and came free with the job.
He faintly heard the first two rings, muffled by the pillow that lay over his head. Two hours earlier, he had downed three bourbons, one more than his usual, while watching the ten o’clock news, and had fallen into a deep sleep.
The third ring pulled him from beneath the pillow. He swung his legs off the narrow mattress that served as a sofa by day and a bed at night. The TV on the empty nail barrel across the room spit static at him. He reached for the phone, interrupting the fourth ring in mid stride, but fumbled the receiver. It hit the linoleum floor with a bang.
“Goddamn it,” he growled.
He grabbed the cord and swung the receiver up, catching it with his other hand. The clock on the two-burner stove in the corner blinked 12:25 a.m. One of the better parts of his job was that no one ever called at this hour and he couldn’t imagine who this might be.
“This is Wade,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Chief Wade. It’s Louise Varney.”
“Louise? What’s the matter?”
“It’s Lloyd. I’m worried about him.”
Wade forked his fingers through his thinning hair and then snatched the remote from the bedside table and punched the TV into silence. “Yeah? What is it?”
“You know those break-ins we’ve had. Well, he left about ten to go watch the store and try to catch whoever’s been doing it. I told him not to, but...well...you know how pig-headed he can be.”
“So, why’re you worried?”
“He was supposed to call me at midnight, but he didn’t. I dozed off and just woke up. I’m afraid the old fool fell asleep. And as cold out as it is, he might catch pneumonia or something.”
Wade sighed heavily. “Well, I’m awake now. I’ll take a stroll down there and shoo him on home.”
“Thanks, Chief. I’d feel better if you did.”
He hung up the phone and stepped into his pants, which lay on the floor beside the bed. After slipping on his shirt and boots, he splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink. The aroma of dried tomato soup, last night’s dinner, wafted up from the dirty bowl he had neglected to wash.
He strapped on his gun belt, snagged his jacket from the back
The odor of cordite commingled with the remnants of the intruder’s musty smell, both now laced with another aroma. What was it? She knew it, had smelled it before, but couldn’t identify it.
She swiped the wall beside the door, searching for a light switch, finding none. A desk with brass lamp sat to her left. She yanked the pull chain; the light pushed back some of the shadows.
The room was wide and deep, with soaring ceilings. Racks and tables of clothing and supplies filled most of the floor and wall space. Everything appeared in order, quiet, until she looked down. Several bloody shoe prints on the hardwood floor led from behind a rack of flannel shirts, past where she stood, and out the door.
Despite the cold, sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts, and slicked the palms of her hands. Her gun pointed the way as she circled the rack of shirts, stepping carefully around the shoe prints to avoid damaging the evidence. The blood added a healthy dose of caution and fear to her every movement.
The thought that she had no business being there crossed her mind.
She rounded the display rack and froze. A body lay on the floor. A man, on his back, unmoving, wearing a red and yellow checked flannel shirt and beige down vest. A pool of black cherry blood fanned out from his left ear, which like the entire left side of his face, was crushed and discolored. Two eyes as black as pools of oil stared up at her. She directed the light beam at them. No pupillary reaction.
Chapter 7
The jangle of the phone ripped through the dark studio apartment Police Chief Forest Wade called home. Cramped and drafty, it wasn’t much, but it conveniently occupied the upper floor of the Gold Creek Police Department and came free with the job.
He faintly heard the first two rings, muffled by the pillow that lay over his head. Two hours earlier, he had downed three bourbons, one more than his usual, while watching the ten o’clock news, and had fallen into a deep sleep.
The third ring pulled him from beneath the pillow. He swung his legs off the narrow mattress that served as a sofa by day and a bed at night. The TV on the empty nail barrel across the room spit static at him. He reached for the phone, interrupting the fourth ring in mid stride, but fumbled the receiver. It hit the linoleum floor with a bang.
“Goddamn it,” he growled.
He grabbed the cord and swung the receiver up, catching it with his other hand. The clock on the two-burner stove in the corner blinked 12:25 a.m. One of the better parts of his job was that no one ever called at this hour and he couldn’t imagine who this might be.
“This is Wade,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Chief Wade. It’s Louise Varney.”
“Louise? What’s the matter?”
“It’s Lloyd. I’m worried about him.”
Wade forked his fingers through his thinning hair and then snatched the remote from the bedside table and punched the TV into silence. “Yeah? What is it?”
“You know those break-ins we’ve had. Well, he left about ten to go watch the store and try to catch whoever’s been doing it. I told him not to, but...well...you know how pig-headed he can be.”
“So, why’re you worried?”
“He was supposed to call me at midnight, but he didn’t. I dozed off and just woke up. I’m afraid the old fool fell asleep. And as cold out as it is, he might catch pneumonia or something.”
Wade sighed heavily. “Well, I’m awake now. I’ll take a stroll down there and shoo him on home.”
“Thanks, Chief. I’d feel better if you did.”
He hung up the phone and stepped into his pants, which lay on the floor beside the bed. After slipping on his shirt and boots, he splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink. The aroma of dried tomato soup, last night’s dinner, wafted up from the dirty bowl he had neglected to wash.
He strapped on his gun belt, snagged his jacket from the back
Similar Books
The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1)
A. D. Elliott
Weird But True
Leslie Gilbert Elman
The Hunger
Janet Eckford
A Wild Swan
Michael Cunningham
Exist (Vampire Assassin League Book 30)
Jackie Ivie
Chocolate-Covered Crime
Cynthia Hickey
Hard Evidence
Roxanne Rustand
David Lodge - Small World
Author's Note
William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger
Anne Perry