Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best ereader for academics .txt) 📕

“Poor bastard.”

“Agreed on both counts, sir.”

“Where was he? You went to the house, didn’t you?”

“The neighbor, a cop from the 45th, Bob Smith…”

“Bob? Sure! I know Bob! He lives there? Whaddaya know! Damn good cop.”

“Yes, sir. He thought he heard shouting from the house, so we thought it best to investigate.”

He grunted. “Very well, just as long as we’re covered. Are we any closer, John, to knowing who did this?”

“Yes, sir. As I said earlier, I had no doubt as to who had done it. Cyril Browne did it.”

“But I thought Cyril Browne was dead!”

“Yes, sir. He is. I’ll explain in the debriefing. It’s a little bit complicated. But I hope to have an arrest soon.”

“Good. We have had quite enough homicides for one night, John.”

“Yes, sir. I agree.”

I hung up and Dehan and I made our way down to the ground floor. I opened the door and stepped out into the cold. Dehan came close beside me. “You OK?”

I nodded. “It was a difficult call. If I had played it differently, Clay, Santos and Giorgio might still be alive.”

She shook her head. “You can’t do that, Stone. You did what seemed right at the time.”

“I should have brought Giorgio in straight away. I didn’t see this coming.”

“Nobody could have.”

“I liked Clay.” I smiled. “He was a pain in the ass, but I liked him.”

Far off, on Soundview Avenue, the first siren wailed, returning to Patterson Avenue once again. It would soon be followed by others. Dehan slipped her arms around me and we waited there, on the steps, for the patrol cars to arrive.

They came within a couple of minutes, accompanied by Frank and the Crime Scene team. We went down the steps to meet them. Frank looked pissed. “What the hell is going on, John? We hadn’t even got halfway back!”

I tried to smile but failed. “I think I’m done for tonight. At least I hope I am. Upstairs in the bedroom. Giorgio Gonzalez, castrated, bled to death. I have to notify his lover. After that, I am going home.”

Frank was frowning at me. “Are you OK?”

“Just tired. Catch you later, Frank. If I’m significantly wrong about cause of death, call me, will you?”

“You won’t be.”

“See ya.”

I put my arm around Dehan and we walked slowly up Taylor Avenue to Sandy Beach’s house. I let go of Dehan and rang the bell. Dehan took my hand and muttered. “Poor woman. She’s going to be devastated.”

She opened the door almost immediately, smiled brightly and then frowned.

“My goodness! You look exhausted. Please do come in out of the cold. What can I do for you?”

We stepped inside and she closed the door behind us. The living room and the dining room were on our right, and a passage ran down to the kitchen at the back of the house. On the left, a staircase climbed to the upper floor. She indicated the door to the living room and we went through. Four lamps gave a warm, amber light. There was a fire burning in the grate, and Debussy was playing softly in the background.

“Do sit and get warm. Are you off duty yet? Can I offer you a drink?”

I smiled and sat in an armchair. Dehan sat next to me on the sofa. I said, “Not quite yet, but almost. Ms. Beach, I think you ought to sit down. We have some very bad news.”

She went very still. After a moment, she sat in the other armchair. “Is it Giorgio?”

I nodded. “Yes. He’s dead, Ms. Beach. I am very sorry.”

Her whole body seemed to jolt three times, like the shock was hitting her in stages. Then her bottom lip started to quiver. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She clamped her hands to her mouth and gave a small, strangled scream. Dehan rose, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and went to sit on the arm of Sandy’s chair. She put her arm around her and gave her the handkerchief.

But Sandy fell back, stifling her screams behind her hands, calling on some unnamed divinity to make it not true; to make it so that it was somebody else, not Giorgio.

All we could do was watch her and listen to her grief, and wait for the storm to pass. There was nobody to help her through it. The only person on Earth she had to turn to in moments like these, was the one whose death she was grieving. Eventually her convulsive crying began to subside, and her breathing became more quiet. Dehan stood and went to the kitchen. Sandy sat up, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. We sat in silence until Dehan returned with a glass of water. She gave it to Sandy, who drank half and let out a shaky sigh.

Dehan sat on the sofa again.

I said, “Ms. Beach, Sandy, I am so sorry for the pain you are going through, but I have a couple of questions I need to ask you. Do you feel up to answering them?”

She nodded a couple of times. “I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll do my best.”

“The first seems a stupid question.” I hesitated a moment. “But, how did you know that the Dodge Charger, the one the two men arrived in, how did you know it was blue?”

She stared at me for a long moment, blinking and frowning by turns. “Well,” she said, “I saw it.”

“Yeah, but you see, I put it to the test out there, and at that distance, in this light, even outside, you can’t tell if a car is dark blue or black or even gray.”

“My goodness. Well, I suppose I assumed it was blue because that’s the color Gibbs’ car is on NCSI.”

I smiled. “Of