Shot of Tequila Read Online Free PDF Page A

back?”
    Binkowski went sullen. “He saved my life.”
    Jack took a step forward, getting in the shop owner’s face.
    “And he also shot a man dead, Mr. Binkowski. What about the next time he walks into a store and blows someone away? Maybe a woman or a kid this time. Maybe your wife and kids, Mr. Binkowski. You think about that when you’re giving your statement. Think about it real hard. And also think about the obstruction of justice and accessory after the fact charges I’ll throw at you if I find out the perp wasn’t a tall black man in gym shoes, but a short white guy in cowboy boots.”
    Binkowski paled. His mouth opened and closed several times, silently, like a goldfish who managed to leap out of the bowl and suddenly figured out it was a bad idea.
    Jack turned on her heels and walked out of the liquor store and into the freezing night. She knew that Binkowski was lying. She knew because she’d been questioning witnesses for almost ten years. Binkowski’s description stank. Plus there was no way in hell two people tried to rob the same store at the same time.
    There was also the matter of a size 7 boot print found in a spatter of blood in front of the register. A print that didn’t match Binkowski, or the corpse, and certainly not anyone over six feet.
    Jack sucked cold air into her lungs. Maybe Binkowski had shot the robber himself, hid his money, and was waiting to claim it all on his insurance. The insurance scam had been around ever since insurance was invented.
    But a search of the store and the block failed to turn up the weapon, the cash, or gloves; the techies had done a swab of Binkowski’s hands and had come up negative. The shop owner hadn’t fired a gun. But he could still be in league with whoever had.
    From the wounds on the body, and the blood patterns decorating the shop, Daniels guessed the killer was a professional, and a damn good one. She’d done some competition shooting, but firing that quickly and precisely—with both hands at once—wasn’t something that happened by accident. Fourteen brass casings had been found, but Jack didn’t hold out any hope they’d get a print off of them.
    Daniels breathed out, watching it steam around her head. She’d know more tomorrow when all the reports were in. But already she had a strong instinctive feeling. In Daniels’s career she’d been involved with several high-profile murder cases. The worst were the repeat killers; the ones who did it over and over again. She’d had many such cases, a few of which almost killed her. This one stank the same way. There would be more bodies before the shooter was found.
    She watched the body being hauled into the back of a meat wagon, the blood on the black bag turning shiny as it froze. The wallet on the deceased held ID in the name of Billy Chico. Chico, according to the computer, had a rap sheet going back to the womb. Never did hard time, but with a file filled with assault, battery, attempted rape, car theft, and various other infractions, it didn’t take a strong imagination to figure he’d graduate to armed robbery. But that was the part of the equation they already had.
    Jack took as much of the cold as she could stand, and then went back into the shop. The smell of violent death mixing with the indoor heat made her nauseous. Benedict was talking to one of the Crime Scene Team guys, and Binkowski had his coat on and was waiting to be escorted to the station. Jack popped some peppermint gum into her mouth to help combat the blood stench and wandered over to her partner.
    “You figure he’s lying?” Benedict asked her, out of Binkowski’s earshot.
    “Like a throw rug.”
    “If the perp was a tall black guy in a green leather jacket, I’ll eat my hat.”
    “You don’t have a hat.”
    Benedict smiled. “Not since Bush was elected. It didn’t go down easy either.”
    “So what’s his game? Think he’s running a scam?”
    “Maybe. We’ll see how much his insurance claim is.