One Shot Read Online Free PDF Page B

on the flat mattress, hugging himself against the sudden cold. He was a large man, with white skin and black hair that was going grey all over his body. His pyjamas were too small for him. He looked slack, and a little older than his forty-one years.
    His dog was an old mutt that woke up reluctantly and staggered in from the kitchen. The K9 team captured it immediately and took it straight out to their truck.
    Emerson took his helmet off and pushed his way through the crowd in the tiny bedroom. Saw a three-quarters-full pint of Jack Daniel's on the night table, next to an orange prescription bottle that was also three-quarters full. He bent to look at it. Sleeping pills.
    Legal. Recently prescribed, to someone called Rosemary Barr. The label said: Rosemary Barr. Take one for sleeplessness.
     
    'Who's Rosemary Barr?' the assistant DA asked. 'Is he married?'
    Emerson glanced round the room. 'Doesn't look like it.'
    'Suicide attempt?' the SWAT commander asked.
    Emerson shook his head. 'He'd have swallowed them all. Plus the whole pint of JD. So I guess Mr Barr had trouble getting off to sleep tonight, that's all.
    After a very busy and productive day.' The air in the room was stale. It smelled of dirty sheets and an unwashed body.
    We need to be careful here,' the assistant DA said.
    'He's impaired right now.
    His lawyer is going to say he's not fully capable of understanding Miranda. So we can't let him say anything. And if he does say something, we can't listen.'
    Emerson called for the paramedics. Told them to check Barr out, to make sure he wasn't faking, and to make sure he wasn't about to die on them. They fussed around for a few minutes, listened to his heart, checked his pulse, read the prescription label. Then they pronounced him reasonably fit and healthy, but fast asleep. 'Psychopath,' the SWAT commander said. 'No conscience at all.'
    'Are we even sure this is the right guy?' the assistant DA asked.
    Emerson found a pair of suit trousers folded over a chair and checked the pockets. Came out with a small wallet. Found the driver's licence. The name was right, and the address was right. And the photograph was right. 'This is the right guy,' he said.
    'We can't let him say anything,' the ADA said again. 'We need to keep this kosher.'
    'I'm going to Mirandize him anyway,' Emerson said.
    'Make a mental note, people.'
    He shook Barr by the shoulder and got half-opened eyes in response. Then he recited the Miranda warning.
    The right to remain silent, the right to a lawyer. Barr tried to focus, but didn't succeed. Then he went back to sleep.
    'OK, take him in,' Emerson said.
    They wrapped him in a blanket and two cops dragged him out of the house and into a car. A paramedic and the ADA rode with him. Emerson stayed in the house and started the search. He found the scuffed blue jeans in the bedroom closet. The crepe soled shoes were placed neatly on the floor below them. They were dusty. The raincoat was in the hall closet.
    The beige Dodge Caravan was in the garage. The scratched rifle was in the basement. It was one of several resting on a rack bolted to the wall. On a bench underneath it were five nine-millimetre handguns. And boxes of ammunition, including a half-empty box of Lake City M852 168-grain boat tail hollow point.308s.
    Next to the boxes were glass jars with empty cartridge cases in them. Ready for recycling, Emerson thought.
    Ready for hand loading.
    The jar nearest the front of the bench held just five of them. Lake City brass. The jar's lid was still off, like the five latest cases had been dumped in there recently and in a hurry. Emerson bent down and sniffed. The air in the jar smelled of gunpowder. Cold and old, but not very.
    Emerson left James Barr's house at four in the morning, replaced by forensic specialists who would go through the whole place with a fine-toothed comb. He checked with his desk sergeant and confirmed that Barr was sleeping peacefully, in a cell on his own with round-the-clock medical