The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) Read Online Free PDF

walked out, Damiano hustled after him and caught him on the sidewalk.
    “Boff! We need to talk.”
    He turned around. “The answer is no. I won’t work with you.”
    “Why not?”
    “You annoy me.”
    “And you don’t bug me?”
    “All the more reason for us not to team up again. I take pride in learning from my mistakes, Victoria .”
    “So do I. But even though I’d much rather work this case without you, if you’re in, then we should share this like we did last time. A major police department has assets you could use.”
    Boff’s reply was a yawn. Then, “We’ll see. If I need your help, I’ll be sure to call.”
    “Like hell you will! Come on, let’s get coffee. I’ve got some things I’m sure you’ll want to hear. First, however, I suggest you look on the front seat of my car.”
    Mildly curious, Boff walked over to her Dodge. There was a manila envelope on the seat. As he reached through the police car’s open window, Damiano turned her back on him. He picked the envelope up and slid out the contents. After skimming through them, he turned to Damiano, whose back was still to him.
    “You know, detective, letting me look at the crime scene report could get you suspended.”
    “I didn’t see you do it.”
    “Okay, let’s go for that coffee.”
     
    The only place still open nearby was a seedy-looking diner whose windows were badly in need of washing. After parking their cars, they went inside and walked over to a booth. To Boff’s chagrin, the seats and table top were littered with crumbs. Before sitting down, he picked up a handful of paper napkins and used them to brush the crumbs onto the floor.
    “My son could get a job here,” he said. “He cleans up after himself about as well as they do in this joint.”
    He ordered coffee and a cheese Danish, Damiano just coffee. After he had studied the crime scene report a few minutes, he looked up at the detective. “The body was laying face down, but liver mortis is present in his back. Meaning it was originally positioned face up.”
    “Correct. He was dumped outside the church after he was shot.”
    “By the rope marks on his wrists, I’m guessing he was tied to a chair.”
    “So it would seem.”
    Boff kept reading. “He had his wallet, cash, and credit card on him. Which rules out robbery.”
    “What do you make of the defector angle in the note?” she asked.
    “Well, my experience is that the majority of murders are personal in some way. Not politically motivated. But I’ll have to check this defector thing out.”
    “There’s another angle in play,” Damiano said.
    “And that is?”
    “When I spoke with the wife, she said some curious things.”
    “Such as?”
    As the detective took out her notepad, he bit into his Danish. It was stale, but he was hungry, so he chewed and swallowed, washing it down with mediocre but hot coffee.
    Reading from her notes, the detective said, “When I introduced myself to her, the wife said, ‘Is Rafael in trouble.’” She looked up from her pad. “That’s a curious thing to say, don’t you think?”
    Nodding, he took another bite on the crummy Danish. “It might indicate that late night visits from the cops weren’t all that unusual for her when they lived in Miami. If it had happened here, Ryan would’ve mentioned it.”
    “Then, when I told her that her husband was dead, she gasped and trembled, but didn’t shed a tear.” The detective turned a page. “She asked me, ‘Where was he found? Was he alone?’”
    After taking another quick sip of coffee to wash away the taste of the Danish, Boff said, “It’s possible she was afraid he’d been shot in bed with another woman. I’ll have to find out if this guy had trouble keeping his pecker in his pants.”
    Damiano closed her pad. “If he was cheating on her,” she said, “and she knew, then that puts her on the suspect list.”
    “True. But I want to investigate the defector angle first. If only to eliminate it.”
    After