Knife Edge (A Dead Cold Mystery Book 27) by Blake Banner (best motivational books to read .txt) 📕

through the crowd and crossed the avenue. A vegetable stall, a bald guy in a suit and a trench coat. A woman in a pink and white wool hat buying tomatoes. A girl with piercings in her nose selling potatoes to a black woman in a fur hat. Both laughing. A fruit stall. A stack of bright orange oranges. A gay couple buying apples. A woman pointing at a pineapple. The guy selling it, big, with big hairy hands. A stall selling clothes. A blonde woman inspecting a sweater. A cheese stall. A man in jeans and a Barbour tasting a slice. A black guy talking to him and pointing at the cheese. Kids running, chasing each other. A woman with a red bike. Faces. Hundreds of faces. And hundreds of milling bodies. Dehan:

“You went past her.”

I stopped, turned, scanned every face in a fifty-foot radius.

“She’s not here.”

“Go inside then. She must be in Macy’s.”

I pushed through the crowd and through the glass doors into Macy’s. The aisles were as packed as the streets had been outside. I stood and scanned each stream of humanity as bodies jostled by me.

“This is impossible.”

“Stay with it, big guy, she’s there. Keep moving north.”

“North?”

I made a mental adjustment and started walking past perfume and makeup stands. I saw an escalator and rode it to the next floor. Through acres of plate glass I could see people milling around clothes racks, pausing, taking clothes and looking at them, feeling them, holding them up against their bodies, checking mirrors.

“You’re practically on top of her. Where are you?”

“Clothing department.”

“Dressing rooms.”

“Hell…”

I moved past the racks, searching the crowds, wondering what the hell Emma Mitchell was doing at Macy’s in White Plains shopping for clothes. It was bizarre. And why wasn’t Wagner with her?

“Any sign of Dr. Wagner yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you spoken to Brad Mitchell yet?”

“No. I was waiting for you.”

“What the hell is she doing here, Dehan?”

“Ask her.”

“I would if I could find her.”

I came to the dressing rooms. There was a woman in her fifties folding clothes. A badge on her chest said her name was Lisa. I showed her my own badge and said, “I’m looking for a woman, late forties, blonde, blue eyes, slim, attractive, her name is Dr. Mitchell. Is she in there?” I pointed at the changing rooms.

She looked at me with large, brown eyes and said, “I don’t know.”

“Would you mind looking for me? This is a murder inquiry, and I need your help.” I smiled at her and tried to mean it. She smiled back.

“Well, since you ask so nicely. What’s it worth?”

I gave her twenty bucks and she winked at me, then went inside and started calling, “Dr. Mitchell! Dr. Mitchell!” I heard a few curtains swish open and then closed again, with a few muttered, “Sorry, darlin’,” and then she came back. “No Dr. Mitchells here, handsome. Maybe try the johns. They’re over there.”

“Thanks.”

“You want help there, too?”

I gave her another twenty and followed her through the store, listening to Dehan saying, “…blonde, blue eyes, slim, attractive…yes indeed. Blonde, blue eyes, slim…attractive…”

We came to a short passage. The men’s toilet was on the right. On the left was the women’s. She pushed through the door while I waited outside, and I heard her voice asking, “Is there a Dr. Mitchell here? Is there a Dr. Mitchell in the house?”

She was funny. There was a murmured response and some laughter. Then I heard knocking, and, “Dr. Mitchell?”

Silence. A moment later a couple of women came out, gave me a strange look and walked past.

“Dr. Mitchell…?”

I went to the door and pushed it open. There was a small group of women gathered around the shop assistant, who was gently pushing open a cubicle door. They all stopped to look at me. I held up my badge. “NYPD. What’s going on?”

Lisa looked at me. “There’s a woman in there, but she ain’t answering. These girls say she’s been in there a few minutes now.”

One of the girls spoke up. “She was in there when I come in, and she’s still there now. She ain’t talkin’, answering nor nothin’.”

I went to the cubicle door and gave a firm push. Something heavy gave and slumped. I put my head around the door and saw Emma Mitchell sitting on the toilet, with her head leaning against the wall, staring at the door with bulging eyes and a slack mouth. At a glance I could see the four holes in her left breast, and the large bloodstain that had oozed from them. I could also see the powder burns on her dress.

I withdrew my head. “You ladies are going to have to stay here for a while. Dehan?” This last I said into the phone. “You’d better get yourself here ASAP.” I moved to the door and stepped outside. “I found her. She’s in a cubicle in the john. She’s been shot in the chest four times. Put a BOLO out on Dr. Margaret Wagner. I’m going to hang up and call the local PD. I’m going to need some backup.”

I hung up and called the local PD, then went back into the toilet. The shop assistant was peering round the cubicle door. I growled at her, “Tampering with evidence is a felony, Lisa. Don’t touch a thing. The woman in there has been murdered. The White Plains Police Department is on its way. Meanwhile, you can start by giving me your names and addresses.”

They all stared at me blankly, and then all as one said, “Murdered?”

Sixteen

They had to take the door off the cubicle so they could pull her out and lay her on the tiled floor. She looked shocked, like the ceiling was the last thing she had expected to see above her that day. The Westchester Medical Examiner had come in from Valhalla and found that Dr. Emma Mitchell had been shot in the heart four times at point-blank range. The shots had been tightly grouped and had all but