Idyll Threats Read Online Free PDF

watch a perp walk. I'd broken more than coffeepots.
    â€œWhy are you looking at him? We've got a murder,” I said.
    â€œPlenty of wife beaters graduate to murder.” He wiggled his brows.
    I leaned against his desk. “They usually kill their wives.”
    He scooted his chair back. “He owns a gun.” He made a pistol with his thumb and forefinger.
    â€œHe's not the only person in town who does.”
    â€œHe worked at the golf course. Maintenance. Was let go for missing work too often.” He fired his finger gun.
    I looked at Finnegan. He studied his fingernails. “And you think that makes him a suspect?” I asked.
    Wright said, “I think it's worth checking where he was last night.”
    â€œMake it quick. We've got work here that needs doing,” I said.
    His ass was out of his chair before I'd finished.
    â€œYou think Anthony Fergus shot our victim?” I asked Finnegan.
    He no longer feigned interest in the state of his hands. “I think we don't have any likelier suspects,” he said. An attempt to back his colleague. So he was loyal. There were prices for loyalty. I almost warned him.
    I asked, “What did the techs give us?”
    â€œBesides a lecture on not destroying the crime scene?” He tapped his desk with a well-chewed pen. “Another lecture on the rewards of patience.”
    â€œStart getting us background on the victim. And get an interview with her employer. What did she do?” Her parents had been vague.
    â€œInsurance, human resources. Working with new employees. Those gunshots prevented a slow death by boredom.” Real cops regard desk jobs as hell on earth. It's funny, given how much paperwork we do.
    â€œWe'll need a tip line,” I said.
    â€œWe'll have to hire extra help.” Money woes were a regular gripe. The station leaked. On rainy days, wastebaskets were deployed. Not Washington Heights, but not Beverly Hills.
    â€œYou okay being full-time ’til this wraps?” I asked.
    â€œSure thing.” He was my half detective, a casualty of budget cuts. I needed the selectmen's blessing before I changed his status. Ah, well. As Rick used to say, “It is better to ask forgiveness than beg permission.” That nicely summed up my dead partner's philosophy.
    Back in my office, the phone rang and rang. Mrs. Dunsmore answered it when the feeling moved her. “Chief Lynch.”
    â€œChief, hello. Lieutenant Doug Martin, from the Eastern District Major Crime Squad.” Ah, the staties. “Heard you got a homicide. Young white woman?” He didn't wait for my response. “I'm assigning Detective Carl Revere to liaison with you.” My headache migrated to my eyes. I thought about that old proverb. The one about keeping your enemies closer. Plus, if I let him in, everyone would stop asking about the state police.
    â€œI look forward to meeting him.” My tone said otherwise.
    â€œI'll send him to tonight's press conference.”
    â€œThere won't be one.”
    â€œGirl found dead on a golf course? You'll need one.”
    â€œI'd like to get the autopsy results first.”
    He said, “Ah, I see. ME giving you a hard time? He's an odd duck.”
    The doctor had tasted the victim's Pop Rocks. Unorthodox, yes. But again, most MEs were. You think he's handsome , my inner voice said. Shut up , I told it. Blue eyes , it said. What is it about blue eyes with you?
    â€œIf you'll excuse me, I've got a murder to clear,” I said.
    â€œSure thing.”
    As pissing contests went, I'd been in bigger and wetter. I didn't like being told I'd host an outside detective. He'd probably expected gratitude. Color us both surprised. I scanned the Filofax I'd inherited. Under “Medical Examiner,” the typed “Franklin Connor” had a red line through it. Below was handwritten “Damien Saunders.” I dialed his number.
    â€œChief Lynch.” His voice, deep and slow,