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

There we came to a wide, dirt track on the right of the road. There was no gate. Just a wooden post with a wooden sign nailed to it that read, “Wagner Ranch.” The track ran straight through cornfields to a large, L-shaped building in cream with sloping green roofs.

We pulled onto the track and rolled and bumped our way for half a mile to a broad expanse of dirt outside the front of the farmhouse. As we pulled up the front door of the house opened and a tall, strongly built man in a blue gingham shirt stepped out to watch us. I put him in his mid-sixties. He had a shock of silver hair and a severe face that said he had little time for BS and none for those who peddled it.

We climbed out and the car doors had a flat, empty echo when we slammed them shut. We walked toward the man and I pulled my badge from my pocket and held it up for him to see it as I approached.

“Good morning! Detective John Stone, from the New York Police Department.” I gestured at Dehan. “This is my partner, Detective Dehan. Are you Mr. Wagner?”

He blinked once and his eyes shifted to Dehan, then back to me.

“I’m not real interested in who y’are, mister. You’re on my land and I ain’t invited you. So y’all can git right back in your fancy car and get the hell outta here.”

“Sure, that’s no problem. We’ll be moving right along. I just wondered if you’d had any news of your daughter, Margaret.”

“I already told you once, mister. I ain’t interested in why you’re here. And I already told you to git off of my land. If I have to tell you a third time, you’ll be talkin’ to my shotgun and my dogs.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I just nodded. I turned and took two steps back toward the car. Dehan was watching me and frowning like she thought I was crazy. Then I stopped and looked back at the man.

“We’ve driven twenty-four hours to be here, because we do not believe your daughter is guilty of murder. We haven’t taken the case to the DA yet. We want to talk to Margaret first. She killed a woman. Did she tell you?”

He took a deep breath and looked back at his front door, like he was thinking about going in to get his shotgun.

I pressed on, “If the DA gets the case as it stands, Margaret will become a fugitive from the law. But we believe she killed Dr. Mitchell in self-defense.”

His eyes were a pale blue and hard as diamonds, but he didn’t move or say anything. I took another step, but back toward him this time.

“We believe Dr. Wagner tried to kill her, and she protected herself.”

“That’s a right every man and every woman has.”

Dehan said, “It’s what we have a Constitution for, right?”

His cold eyes shifted to her and for a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of humor. It wasn’t reassuring.

“I wouldn’t give you an ounce of horseshit for the Constitution, ’Tective Dehan. My rights and my liberties are my own and I don’t need no Constitution to give ’em to me. Neither do I need no judge in Washington to tell me what they are. You tellin’ me Maggie killed a woman protectin’ herself. She got a right to do that. So what the hell are you doin’ here on my land?”

I took another step. “I didn’t tell you that Maggie killed a woman trying to protect herself, Mr. Wagner. I told you we thought she killed that woman in self-defense. But that doesn’t make a damn piece of difference if I can’t prove it to the DA.”

“You take one more step, son, and I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders.”

“Fine, Mr. Wagner, you do that. But it won’t make any difference, except that you will then be dealing with the FBI instead of the NYPD, and they will be out to make an example of you, to prove to the nation that gun-toting, NRA rednecks will not be allowed to ride roughshod over the law and go around shooting law enforcement officers.”

“You better watch that tongue o’ yours, boy.”

“Right now all you have to contend with, Mr. Wagner, is a couple of cops working a low-key case who want to hear your daughter’s story because they believe she shot a woman in self-defense. Send us away, or shoot us, and you will have the whole damned federal system grinding into gear to come and get you. Not to mention the anti-gun lobby making a national issue out of you and your daughter.”

He stood watching us for a long moment, then reached back, opened his front door and called inside, “Honey, bring me my rifle, will you?”

I sighed. “Mr. Wagner, that is not necessary. We are going to leave. But you need to give our message to Margaret. Right now, with the help of a good lawyer, she could walk away from this scot free. But keep this up, refuse to cooperate with the authorities and she could be facing very serious trouble.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats, son.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” It was Dehan who had exploded out of her silence. “He is not threatening you, you great lunk! He is trying to help you! And what should be more important to you, he is trying to help your daughter! You want your daughter to spend the next fifteen years in a state penitentiary? Have you any idea the kind of life your daughter has grown used to in New York? She lives in luxury in an old manor house, respected as an eminent expert in her field! You know what it would do to her to spend ten or fifteen years among killers? Do you know what they would do to a woman like her inside? You better put your dick away, Yosemite Sam, and start thinking