Read Online 3 Time to Steele by Alex P. Berg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alex P. Berg
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precinct, so Shay and I enlisted the one that looked the healthiest and best fed and promised him an extra silver crown if he got us to Gill’s place in record time.
We hadn’t even pressed our bottoms into the hardwood bench before our driver took off like a horse at a steeplechase. Foot traffic scattered before the guy as he booked it down the street pell-mell. Unfortunately, despite his superhuman effort fueled by the promise of enough silver for a gourmet dinner and a new pair of shoes, we couldn’t quite make it. The intruder had fled the scene by the time we arrived.
I stood in the middle of Gill’s living room with my hands on my hips. When the morning crew had left, they’d transferred Gill’s body to the morgue so Cairny could continue her analysis, but otherwise, they’d left the place as it was, which meant the intruder had largely done the same. The furniture was where I remembered it, including the upholstered sofas and the coffee table and the eat-in with the chairs, but someone had gone through Gill’s desk.
Files had been withdrawn and tossed on its surface, the pages within scattered—in search of what, who knew. I hadn’t searched through the documents myself for fear of contaminating the crime scene. I figured the lab techs would be on their way soon, and even though paper wasn’t an ideal surface for pulling prints, they’d gotten lucky in the past. From what I could see right off the bat, the documents on the desk weren’t financial in nature, nor were they related to Gill’s repo business in any way. Instead, they appeared to be letters. I spotted numerous names and signatures at the bottom, right-hand corners of the pages.
The intruder had also rifled though Gill’s closet, turning coat and pants pockets inside out, and we’d found a few boxes of curios and collectibles—also from the closet—upended in the bedroom and sifted through. We’d never bothered going through the boxes and cataloging the belongings during our morning session in the apartment, so I had no idea if anything had been taken or not, but there didn’t appear to be anything of value among the remaining mementos.
Given the evidence, two things stuck out to me. Based on the disorderly state of the letters and knickknacks in the bedroom, the intruder had been rushed. They knew we’d be back, which meant they knew about Gill’s murder. That meant there was a high probability the trespasser was our murderer. Second, the intruder was after information—personal information based on what we’d found upended in the apartment. That, in turn, meant Gill’s torture in the morning likely wasn’t passion or rage driven but rather information driven. Did the murderer come back because they didn’t get what they needed the first time around? Or were two parties after the same piece of knowledge?
Shay walked into the living room from the bedroom, rubbing her chin between her index finger and thumb.
“Find anything?” I asked. I’d done my own sweep of the premises, of course, but I’d learned to defer to Steele’s superior observational skills when analyzing crime scenes.
“For once, I think I’m going to disappoint you,” she said. “No.”
“You didn’t find any mysterious crumpled notes?” I said. “No used handkerchiefs or scuff marks from shoes or anything else that might help us identify who was here?”
Shay shook her head. “Zilch. Just the curios and letters on the desk. Although I did notice something about the knickknacks in the bedroom.” She smiled and tilted her head almost imperceptibly.
I waited a moment before responding in kind. “Are you going to make me pull it out of you?”
“You always do this to me,” she said. “You claim it increases the pleasure of the reveal.”
“Well,” I said. “Is it working?”
“I’m not sure,” said Steele. “I haven’t revealed anything yet.”
“So hit me,” I said.
“There are three piles of stuff from Gill’s boxes in the
We hadn’t even pressed our bottoms into the hardwood bench before our driver took off like a horse at a steeplechase. Foot traffic scattered before the guy as he booked it down the street pell-mell. Unfortunately, despite his superhuman effort fueled by the promise of enough silver for a gourmet dinner and a new pair of shoes, we couldn’t quite make it. The intruder had fled the scene by the time we arrived.
I stood in the middle of Gill’s living room with my hands on my hips. When the morning crew had left, they’d transferred Gill’s body to the morgue so Cairny could continue her analysis, but otherwise, they’d left the place as it was, which meant the intruder had largely done the same. The furniture was where I remembered it, including the upholstered sofas and the coffee table and the eat-in with the chairs, but someone had gone through Gill’s desk.
Files had been withdrawn and tossed on its surface, the pages within scattered—in search of what, who knew. I hadn’t searched through the documents myself for fear of contaminating the crime scene. I figured the lab techs would be on their way soon, and even though paper wasn’t an ideal surface for pulling prints, they’d gotten lucky in the past. From what I could see right off the bat, the documents on the desk weren’t financial in nature, nor were they related to Gill’s repo business in any way. Instead, they appeared to be letters. I spotted numerous names and signatures at the bottom, right-hand corners of the pages.
The intruder had also rifled though Gill’s closet, turning coat and pants pockets inside out, and we’d found a few boxes of curios and collectibles—also from the closet—upended in the bedroom and sifted through. We’d never bothered going through the boxes and cataloging the belongings during our morning session in the apartment, so I had no idea if anything had been taken or not, but there didn’t appear to be anything of value among the remaining mementos.
Given the evidence, two things stuck out to me. Based on the disorderly state of the letters and knickknacks in the bedroom, the intruder had been rushed. They knew we’d be back, which meant they knew about Gill’s murder. That meant there was a high probability the trespasser was our murderer. Second, the intruder was after information—personal information based on what we’d found upended in the apartment. That, in turn, meant Gill’s torture in the morning likely wasn’t passion or rage driven but rather information driven. Did the murderer come back because they didn’t get what they needed the first time around? Or were two parties after the same piece of knowledge?
Shay walked into the living room from the bedroom, rubbing her chin between her index finger and thumb.
“Find anything?” I asked. I’d done my own sweep of the premises, of course, but I’d learned to defer to Steele’s superior observational skills when analyzing crime scenes.
“For once, I think I’m going to disappoint you,” she said. “No.”
“You didn’t find any mysterious crumpled notes?” I said. “No used handkerchiefs or scuff marks from shoes or anything else that might help us identify who was here?”
Shay shook her head. “Zilch. Just the curios and letters on the desk. Although I did notice something about the knickknacks in the bedroom.” She smiled and tilted her head almost imperceptibly.
I waited a moment before responding in kind. “Are you going to make me pull it out of you?”
“You always do this to me,” she said. “You claim it increases the pleasure of the reveal.”
“Well,” I said. “Is it working?”
“I’m not sure,” said Steele. “I haven’t revealed anything yet.”
“So hit me,” I said.
“There are three piles of stuff from Gill’s boxes in the
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