Fillet of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

if we ever find him,” Talia said. She moved toward the open doorway, which was now only ten or twelve feet away. All at once, she had a vision of Turnbull rushing out of the bathroom—wherever it was—and aiming a gun at their faces. Her insides felt liquid as she called out his name again. This time it came out like a squeak.
    â€œThe rotter isn’t even here,” Bea said with disgust, after no response from Turnbull came. “All this anxiety for nothing. We may as well leave.”
    Talia wrinkled her nose. “Bea, something’s off.” A bad feeling was beginning to nibble its way up her spine. Her first instinct was to grab Bea and flee, but a stronger one told her someone might need help. She moved to the open doorway of what now revealed itself as Turnbull’s office. The light source, she realized, came from the large luminescent clock that hung on the wall opposite Turnbull’s massive desk.
    â€œSee if there’s a light switch,” Bea suggested.
    With her free hand, Talia reached around the doorframe and explored the wall. Her fingers landed on a switch, andshe flicked it on. Fluorescent lighting flooded the room. She was so grateful to be able to see that she was tempted to do a dance of joy.
    Or maybe not.
    Talia stumbled backward onto Bea’s toes, eliciting an “ouch” and a few other creative curses from her friend. She felt her knees wobble. The photo fluttered from her fingers. With a shudder, she turned and grasped Bea’s arm. “I . . . think I know why Turnbull didn’t hear us.”
    Massaging the crunched toes of her left foot, Bea peeked around Talia. She sucked in a noisy breath. “God save the Queen and McCartney.”
    Turnbull was lying on the floor, his head and one arm jutting out from behind his monster-sized desk. The one ice-blue eye that Talia could see was wide open. His gelled hair rested in a puddle of darkened blood. Protruding from the side of his damaged neck, just above the pressed collar of his cotton shirt, was the lime-green handle of a silver knife.

4

    By the time Talia unlocked the rear door of Lambert’s it was after one. A feeling of utter relief swept over her. The simple act of standing in the eatery’s familiar kitchen went a long way toward erasing the horrors of the morning.
    She peeled off her flared jacket, which now felt like a ship anchor, and slung it over a hook behind the door. Then she made a quick trip to the bathroom, where she washed her hands for a solid five minutes. The officer who’d taken her fingerprints had given her a solvent to remove the oily black ink. Still, nothing could take the place of a good scrubbing with soap and water and a hefty dose of elbow grease.
    Unfortunately, even soap couldn’t scour away the image that stuck in her mind. She couldn’t stop seeing Turnbull’s blue eye, staring and sightless, and that knife poking out of his neck.
    Talia swallowed back the lump that had been blossomingin her throat all morning. Drawing in a long, calming breath, she ran her fingers through her short blond hair. She shuddered, remembering the “interview” at the police station. They’d stuck her in a drab, claustrophobic room occupied only by a table and three wooden chairs. One entire wall was mirrored. Talia knew from watching TV crime shows that behind the mirror, someone would be watching her every move. Scrutinizing every blink of the eye or twitch of the lips. The idea of being spied on that way sent ripples of terror through her. And she had nothing to hide!
    Not that she was blameless in this whole mess. It was Talia’s crazy idea to sneak into the lighting shop. What was she thinking? Why didn’t she just wait until opening time?
    Because she didn’t want Bea to find out, that’s why. Now, thanks to her lovable friend being a nosy posy, she’d gotten them both into a hot pickle.
    Police Chief Derek Westlake,