Rules of Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page A

London,” said Paul Gordon. “Who?”
    “Dr. Jonathan Ransom.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Yeah, I thought you’d want to know.”
     
     
     

Chapter    4
     
     
       “Murder squad.”
    Detective Chief Inspector Kate Ford of the London Metropolitan Police flashed her badge at the uniformed constable standing guard at the entrance to 1 Park Lane. “I’m looking for Detective Laxton.”
    “Morning, governor,” replied the constable. “He’s inside speaking to the building concierge. I’ll ring him for you.”
    “Do that.” As Kate pulled into the circular driveway, she made a quick visual of the crime scene. A half-dozen uniforms manned the perimeter, keeping pedestrians and joggers moving along smartly. Blue-and-white security tape cordoned off the north end of the driveway and the stairs leading into the building. A sheet covered the corpse, but nothing had been done to clean up the blood. That was as it should be, she thought, as she brought her car to a halt and killed the engine. Everything appeared to be under control.
    It was 5:45 a.m. by the dashboard clock. Kate angled the rearview mirror toward her face and ran a five-second diagnostic. Makeup all right, hair fine, eyes clear.
First day back
, she told herself.
Make it count
.
    She opened the door and stepped outside. An ambulance was parked a few meters away. Its crew lounged against the bodywork, smoking, chuckling. “This is a crime scene, not a pub on a Friday night,” she said. “A man died here. Show some respect.” She yanked a cigarette out of the fat one’s mouth and flicked it to the ground. “Get in the cab and wait till we call you.”
    The driver tucked his chin into his neck. “Yes, boss.”
    Katherine Elizabeth Ford was thirty-seven years old, tall and blond and rail thin. She was dressed in a navy blazer, white T, and razor-creased slacks, and as she crossed the drive she appeared to gain not only speed but purpose.
Like a shark coming in for the kill
, someone had once said in the squad room.
Yeah, but a shark’s got a sense of humor
, came the response. Her face was all right angles, her nose sharp as a ruler, jaw set against the rigors of the coming day, blue eyes narrow as gun slits. She knew that she stood too straight, walked too fast, and didn’t laugh loudly enough at the boys’ jokes. But that was her way, and damn the lot if they didn’t understand.
    “Hello, there, Katie!”
    A trim silver-haired man emerged from the building. In a natty gray suit and pearl tie, he was dressed too nicely for a detective pulling night duty. As he jogged down the stairs, he held a hand on his head to guard his hair against the swirling morning breeze.
God help me
, thought Kate as she raised her hand in greeting.
It’s too early for Pretty Kenny
. “Hello, Ken,” she called, forcing a smile. “Bit of a mess, eh?”
    Detective Ken Laxton of the Homicide Appraisal Team shook her hand and nodded at the body. “Bugger had to land on the stairs, didn’t he? Missed a perfectly nice patch of grass three meters away.” He laughed loudly at his joke.
    “Where’d he fall from?” Kate asked, not sharing his humor.
    Laxton pointed to a balcony halfway up the building. “Fifth floor. I’m seeing it as a jumper, plain and simple. Apartment was locked. The alarm was on. It’s a biometric job. Needs a thumbprint plus a code. The place is the size of Buckingham Palace.”
    “What about family? Wife? Kids?”
    “He was a bachelor. Looks like he’d decided he’d had enough of being alone and got on with it.”
    “So you’re calling it a suicide,” said Kate. “Fair enough. Did he leave a note?”
    “Not that we’ve found.” Laxton shrugged off the fact. “Like I said, he was a bachelor. No wife. No kids. Just his parents.”
    Kate mulled this over. The great majority of suicides left behind some kind of message. She’d learned that it didn’t really matter who they wrote to, simply that they said goodbye. “You mentioned that