Hot Flash Read Online Free PDF

instead of testifying in the case. Everyone’s eyes bore a hole in my temple—especially the students from Chestnut Hill University and their parents. They all wanted Boone, who had raped, mutilated, and shot a student, Candace Hodges, to be put away forever or better yet, dead by lethal injection.
    He had come by his lethal persona legitimately. His father was Richard “The Pistol” Boone, a primary player in the Philadelphia Black Mafia, an organization that emerged in the 1960s and ruled over the city’s underworld through the 1990s and into the early 2000s. Black Mafia members were vicious, both in their methods of controlling people and in their illegal activities of drug trafficking, loan sharking, numbers rackets, and extortion. I knew this from experience. I spent my first few years in the department undercover in their organization.
    Boone spent fifteen years in prison for murdering his father. He beat and strangled him to death, stabbed him thirty-five times all over his body after he was dead, and shot him ten times, five in the head and five in his privates. Definitely a crime of passion and hate.
    Since his release from prison in 2008, Boone had been the primary suspect in four murder cases. Candace Hodges, murdered six months ago to the day, January 29, 2013, made five. His last known victim, before Candace Hodges, was a thirty-year-old mother of three. She was found stuffed in a locker in an abandoned building in the Broad and Dauphin Street neighborhood, known as one of the twenty-five most dangerous neighborhoods in America. Her breasts were severed, her arms and legs were cut off, and she had gunshot wounds to her forehead, chest, and genital area.
    Boone had escaped prosecution in the four previous cases because of weak evidence or evidence that mysteriously disappeared, and witnesses who refused to appear in court fearing for their safety.
    â€œI have no more questions at this time for this witness,” Boone’s attorney said.
    The district attorney rose as Boone’s attorney returned to his seat next to Boone. “Redirect, Your Honor,” he said. “Officer Mabley, please tell the court how the Firearms Identification Unit is validated. That is, whether the practices used are accepted in the relevant scientific community, and please explain what that means.”
    â€œYes, our practices are accredited. We use the National Integrated Ballistic Identification Network’s computerized system, which assists in matching firearms-related evidence to other evidence entered into the system around the world. We also use ballistic comparison microscopes to conduct all levels of microscopic comparisons. Our practices are accredited by the American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors.”

    Laughton loitered outside the courtroom waiting for me. The elevator ride to the parking garage, the clicking of our shoes on the pavement, and the hollow sound of my car door opening soothed my nerves, though I sensed uneasiness between Laughton and me, something foreign to our relationship. I got in and started the engine.
    â€œThanks for showing up,” I said. “I’ve testified in hundreds of cases before with no problem, but this guy, Boone, he freaks me out.”
    â€œWhat are partners for?” he shot back, automatically. Then he got heated. “No way is the son of a bitch getting off this time. He’s outta here for good if I have any say.”
    â€œWell, you don’t have any say. But thanks for helping me say my part.”
    â€œI wouldn’t be so sure.”
    â€œWouldn’t be so sure about what?”
    â€œYou have a lot more testifying to do before this thing is over. Stay focused.”
    â€œLaughton, I’ve been testifying for fifteen years. I can handle whatever they throw at me. I’ll say it again, I got this.”
    â€œYeah, but by your own admission, you’ve never been up against a Jesse Boone.”
    He