Tin God Read Online Free PDF

ago in Jackson. But this woman–this woman who looked so much like his wife–had been attacked in Roselea. In her home. Strangled. Beaten.
    Different encounter. Different circumstances. Different killer.
    Coincidence .
    He looked at the picture again. His fingers flexed, aching to grab the phone, call his brother-in-law, and find out the details. Lana’s murder had been a stranger abduction. No real evidence left behind. Couple of hairs, a few fibers, but nothing that matched anything. Every suspect had been cleared, every lead a dead end.
    Nick read the article again. The smiling blond-haired woman had been attacked in her home with no signs of forced entry. Her husband was the prime suspect–Royce Newton, a former prominent Jackson attorney retired from his family law practice. As a social worker, Lana might have known him.
    Four years had passed without a lead in Lana’s case, and Nick desperately wanted to make the connection. But he knew the drill, having covered dozens of murders in his career. There was nothing here but hope and a creepy coincidence.
    His muscles loosened back into their normal, tired state. Life went on, and he was done chasing ghosts. He hauled himself up straight and took a final gulp of coffee, then dumped it out in the sink. He had to clear his head and get ready for the pitch his editor couldn’t refuse. Not this time.
    ###
    “No way.” Kim Lear, editor of Jackson’s Clarion-Ledger, glared at Nick across her immaculate desk. He met her gaze, chin jutted out like a petulant child’s, eyes narrowed in defiance.
    “Kim. Come on. This is a real story.”
    “You’re right.” She stood up and began to pace. Her thick braids were twisted into a loose knot, her heels sharp against the floor. Kim was constantly in the middle of a shitstorm, and Nick knew he slung more than his fair share of muck her way. But she was also a damned good journalist, fair and always seeking the truth. She couldn’t pass this up.
    “The Reverend Wilcher is into something illegal,” Nick insisted. “He’s living too damned high for a preacher. He’s got to be embezzling.”
    “You can’t prove that.”
    “I can if you let me.”
    Kim took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Doesn’t seem to matter if I let you or not. You’re already hounding Wilcher and pissing off advertisers. His followers give us big bucks to advertise, and we can’t afford to lose them.”
    Nick said nothing, his anger building as Kim continued.
    “You going to deny harassing Wilcher yesterday?”
    Why was the good Reverend offended? All Nick had done was stop by during Reverend Wilcher’s brunch at The Garden to ask a few tough questions. Guess the saint of Jackson had been embarrassed in front of his cronies.
    “Didn’t harass the man. Just spoke the truth.”
    “You followed him, went up to his table, and told him–in front of two members of the Mississippi Republican Party–that you’d heard some nasty rumors. Thought it was time to investigate.”
    “Again. Spoke the truth.”
    “Well, don’t. There are a dozen other stories to follow, all of which have real leads. This is a witch hunt, Nick.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Sure you do.” Kim returned to her desk and pulled out a manila file with his name on it. “Four years ago, you pitched this same idea to Allan before he stepped down. He told you no for the same reasons I’m telling you now.”
    Nick rubbed the day old stubble on his chin. “I’m still hearing the same rumors–”
    “Really? Because I checked around, and you’re the only one with boo to say about Wilcher.”
    “I’ve got better sources.”
    “No. You’ve got guilt.”
    Heat lit up Nick’s fair skin. He dug his chewed fingernails into the leather on the chair’s arms. “Excuse me?”
    “You told Allan this was something your wife suggested.”
    “Yeah. She was a social worker. She had contacts throughout the court system and the police department.