Murder in Thrall Read Online Free PDF Page A

known about the gun but didn’t think it would be used against her; what a terrible moment it must be when you realize you are wrong.
    Acton came over to crouch beside Doyle, and they both considered the evidence in silence for a moment.
    “I’m sorry you couldn’t get through to me this morning, sir.” She made the apology as a matter of form; she’d known immediately upon entering the room that Acton was not unhappy with her.
    “No matter; you had a late night,” he replied in a mild tone. “But I did have an anxious moment or two.”
    She glanced at him, puzzled, and he indicated Giselle’s remains with a nod of his head.
    “Oh—I see.” He had been concerned she had met the same fate, apparently. “I’d left the mobile on vibrate, I’m afraid.”
    “Yes—I realized that must have been the case when I checked the GPS unit in your mobile and saw that you were en route to headquarters.”
    She made a wry mouth. “That is excellent detectin’, sir.” Acton was a wily one; mental note.
    He continued almost apologetically. “I would appreciate it if you kept communication open at all times.”
    She turned her head to meet his gaze and said sincerely, “I will. I am sorry I gave you a turn, sir.” There had been a suppressed anxiety underlying the last words that was rather touching—he must think her a sorry excuse if he thought she would let some crazed killer have his way with her.
    But the moment had passed and he was back to business. “No sign of forced entry. The landlord says she had a variety of men visiting at odd hours over the past few months; he thinks more than one had an Irish accent.”
    This was of interest; the witnesses had said the dead trainer was Irish, and Capper was Irish. Giselle, however, was not—Doyle could tell when an accent had been erased and Giselle had not emigrated from the old sod.
    Acton indicated the fatal wound. “What do you think?”
    “A lot of firepower. And it makes such a crackin’ mess; perhaps he didn’t plan on doin’ this when he came in.”
    “I think he did.” Acton turned the body so that the mangled mass that used to be the back of Giselle’s head was in view. Doyle studied it. “Where’s the bullet, in the wall?”
    “Not here.”
    Doyle met his eyes in surprise. “He took it again. He used a weapon that was so powerful it would not leave the bullet in the skull.”
    Acton rose and pointed to a splinter that was protruding from the window frame. “Pried it out.”
    Perplexed, Doyle looked over the murder scene. “Surely there must be trace evidence left behind; the place is a shambles.”
    Acton shook his head. “He had plenty of time to clean it up. He knows his forensics—he even turned the heat up.”
    “So time of death is obscured.” The temperature of the body would be unnaturally high; they wouldn’t have a target time for witness interviews or review of the CCTV tape; not immediately, anyway. Doyle was silent, thinking it over. There was something a bit chilling about such cold-blooded calculation; a professional killer was a different breed.
    They rose to their feet and Acton continued. “We’ll have to do it the hard way; I’ll have the landlord come down to headquarters to look at some photos of Watch List persons of interest—Irish, as well as track personnel. Show photos of Capper and the barkeeper while you’re here. I would also like you to review the surveillance tape of the lobby for the past twenty-four hours and anything available from the CCTV in the street.”
    Doyle hated reviewing surveillance tape, which was a tedious job usually given to first-year DCs such as herself. “Perhaps I should show her photo around at the track?”
    Acton rested his gaze on what was left of the dead girl’s face for a moment. “No.”
    Doyle knew better than to argue. He glanced up at the curious residents who were jostling for position behind the cordon. “Check for witnesses who can place her coming in last night, and