Under a Raging Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

fury. “You…you’re hereby suspended from the FTO program. I want your daily log, your weekly file and your key to the file cabinet.”
    Chisolm showed no surprise. He opened his briefcase and withdrew all three items and dropped them with a thunk on Hart’s desk.
    “Payne will be re-assigned to someone who is not such a burn-out,” Hart said through gritted teeth.
    “He may need this, then.” Chisolm reached inside his briefcase and withdrew Payne’s pistol. He slammed the weapon down on Hart’s desk. The slide was locked to the rear and the magazine had been removed. Chisolm tossed the magazine to Hart, catching him by surprise. Hart juggled the mag, then dropped it.
    Chisolm ignored him, gathered up his briefcase and strode out the door.
     
    1743 hours
     
    Thwack!
    Two halves of firewood fell off the splitting block and onto an already sizable pile. Karl Winter stepped forward and tossed them aside into his stacking pile and set another round on the block. He removed the axe and stepped back.
    Winter had once heard that cutting wood is a favorite acti v ity of men. That’s because it is hard work and one sees imm e diate results. Who said that? Mark Twain? Winter wasn’t sure but he agreed with the sentiment.
    He set up and swung easily, letting the weight of the axe do most of the work. Two pieces leapt apart as if in pain when the axe struck, landing several feet to each side.
    Winter chopped most of his wood in the summer, storing it for the winter season. He hated chopping wood in the cold. Actually, he avoided doing anything in the cold. Besides, there was something satisfying about swinging an axe under the August late afternoon sun and sweating from honest work. Police work was hard, dangerous at times, but not physically deman d ing, except in small bursts. His protruding belly spoke to the truth of that.
    He set up another piece and continued chopping at a leisurely, constant pace. His mind wandered, as it o f ten did, to work issues. This Sca r face robber situation bothered him. The guy threatened clerks with a gun and now he was shooting at cops. Add to that the fact that the administration bungled their handling of the situation so far, both within the department and with the media. But most of all, it rankled him that the bastard was getting away with it.
    Eleven stores in two weeks.
    Winter shook his head in disgust and swung the axe.
    Thwack.
    Another piece of wood ready for burning in three months.
    Winter reviewed the information he had. The description was always the same. The robber made no a t tempt to disguise himself. He either didn’t care, or. . . maybe he wanted to be seen. Which would mean he wore a disguise. Probably the hair. A good wig, maybe, giving him long hair.
    What about the scar? He considered the question, but decided it was probably real. One of the clerks would have noticed a fake scar.
    So the robber runs out of the store, goes three or four blocks on foot, maybe less, and gets into a car. Ev e ry track that Winter knew of ended with the K-9 officer saying the suspect probably used a car. Officers are set up on perimeter and looking for a white male with long black hair on foot. Does he slip out with his short hair and in a car?
    Maybe.
    Winter swung the axe lightly, sticking it into the block. He began to stack the wood.
    Probably not, though. An officer would stop someone that even vaguely matched the description, car or not. And how close did you have to be to see the scar? He might be able to slip out two or three times, but not eleven.
    So what then?
    Winter shook his head and tossed the wood into the stack. He knew the detectives in Major Crimes had more information they weren’t putting out to patrol. Part of it was security and some it was the ridiculous game of ownership. They wanted to keep the information to themselves and they wanted to catch the bad guy instead of patrol. After all, why waste information on a bunch of patrolmen? They were just cops who