It's a Sin to Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

ITH GROWING dark and the pull of the tide, the body moved again. The crabs and the small fish scurried away. More buoyant now, it started back up the bay then, caught by the pull of the current on the fringe of Sister Key, it slipped into the swash channel, spun lazily for a moment then floated slowly down Blind Pass, the other exit to the Gulf.
    A flight of gulls spotted it and swooped low, only to fly away screaming. A long-legged heron fishing in the shallows of the key regarded it with distaste. A large school of playful crevalle jacks using the swash channel to cross from one arm of the bay to the other buffeted it as they passed and set the body to bobbling. The motion attracted a swimming turtle. He climbed on the floating flesh, rode it for a short distance then lost interest and plopped back into the water.
    The arm that had been extended remained so, as rigor mortis became complete. There was a brief flash of fire and color as the last rays of the setting sun sought for and found the ten carat diamond in the ring now imbedded in the swollen finger.
    As the body reached the end of Sister Key and began the long journey to the Gulf via this new pass it was exploring, Buddy Cronkite and Tommy Williams, netting mullet out of season, saw something white in the water.
    Buddy, eleven years old, said, “Hit’s a sick baby porpoise. They always turn white and spotted jist before they die.”
    Tommy, age ten, was scornful. “Hain’t neither,” he insisted. “Hit’s a daid hammer haid shark.”
    To prove his superior knowledge, he waded out to the edge of the channel, whirled his weighted circular net and casting it expertly over the body, he drew it back into the shallows.
    One of the weights struck the extended hand and the dead woman turned in the water and lay on her back under the stout nylon netting.
    Buddy’s teeth began to chatter. “A daid hammer haidshark,” he whimpered. “Hit’s a nekid woman, without no clothes on, that’s what.”
    The net rope went slack in Tommy’s hand. The freckles on the bridge of his nose stood out in bold relief against the sudden white of his face. He tried to tug his net free and couldn’t. His voice was shrill.
    â€œWell, don’t jist stand there. He’p me git my net offen this thing.”
    Buddy, still frightened, proved he was a year older and wiser. “We won’t do no sich thing. We got t’ pull hit into the key an’ then go tell the sheriff. You got t’ tell when you find a daid one. Hit’s the law.”
    Buddy tugged tentatively at the net rope and changed his mind as the bloated body surged toward him. He dropped the rope and splashed through the shallows toward their flat bottomed skiff. “You pull hit in. You netted hit. I’ll go tell the sheriff.”
    Tommy secured the rope in his hand to a fish stake and splashed after him.
    â€œAn’ leave me here alone with hit agittin’ dark? No, sir. We’ll both go tell.”
    â€¢ • •
    The room was small and poorly furnished with a desk, a steel filing cabinet, a few straight-backed chairs. Ames had never been so unutterably weary. He sat, acutely conscious of his best white shirt and blue pants, dangling his white cap between his knees, looking at Mary Lou.
    Not even Mary Lou believed him. She thought he’d stayed with Mrs. Camden, then lost his head and harmed her and stolen five thousand dollars.
    White sat back of the desk with the money in front of him. “How you feel, Charlie?” he asked.
    Ames told the truth. “Tired.”
    â€œIt’s been a day,” White admitted. “You ready to talk yet, Charlie?”
    Ames returned the cap to his head. “I’ve been talking all day.”
    â€œAnd you’re still sticking to your story? The last you remember is drinking a cup of coffee with Mrs. Camden in the cockpit of the
Sally?
”
    â€œThat’s