Read Online Blood Game: A Jock Boucher Thriller by David Lyons - Free Book Online Page B

everything is,” Fitch said.
    Again Dumont was dumbfounded. “I wouldn’t know where to look. The maid always prepared the coffee. I could fix you a drink . . .”
    Vehicles were heard in front of the house, adhering to Fitch’s instructions—no lights, no sirens. He went to the front door. Two paramedics rushed forward with a stretcher.
    “Body’s in the basement. There’s no need to rush. It’s not going anywhere.”
    From a patrol car, two plainclothes officers got out and approached the house. Fitch let them get to the front door, then held up his hand. “Something you need to do before you start,” he said.
    “Sure, Detective, what is it?”
    Fitch stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill from his money clip. “Go buy me some coffee. Black. Master of the house doesn’t know where it’s kept.”
    •  •  •
    It was late the following afternoon when Fitch made it to Chief Logan’s office on South Broad Street. The chief sat behind his desk in his white shirt, looking like he had just put it on. Fitch, on the other hand, wore a shirt he had ironed himself and a tie with stains from the energetic shaking of a bottle of Tabasco sauce, the stains concealed only when he kept his sport coat buttoned. But he had showered and shaved, and his hair was combed. That was the best thechief was going to get from him after he’d been at a crime scene all night.
    “I appreciate it,” Chief Logan said.
    “And?” Fitch said.
    “I won’t forget it.”
    “That’s better.”
    Fitch threw a Ziploc bag on the chief’s desk. Had the bag not landed on the simulated leather top, its contents might have dented the wood, but Fitch knew what he was doing. He was making a point.
    “What’s this?” Logan asked.
    “One is the bullet that killed the maid. The other, a random shot I dug out of the wall about eight inches up from the floor. I think the shooter knew the victim and the killing was an accident. He had drunk a lot of Dumont’s tequila. Probably dropped the gun in shock after he killed her, and it discharged. Hence the second bullet.”
    “What do you want me to do with them?”
    “Chief Logan, it’s not my case, and in the immortal words of Rhett Butler, ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn.’ ”
    “Do you have the gun?”
    “No. Had I gotten there before your friend Mr. Dumont, I might, but he got there first. No gun.”
    “You think he’s hiding the murder weapon? His alibi is airtight. Why on earth would he—”
    Fitch held up his hand and gave a slight nod. It wasn’texactly a command for silence from his superior, but it was damn close. “Do those bullets look familiar to you?”
    Logan reached for the Ziploc. He held it up in front of his face. “What caliber are these?”
    “Bingo,” Fitch said. “They’re cop killers, rifle caliber made for a pistol. Your friend kept a small collection of weapons in the basement. I did not examine them, and I kept the investigation away from them as best I could. There were gun cabinets and display cases. I think the shooter fell back on the one where he’d taken the gun and broke it. It looked to me like Dumont might have cleaned up and removed the damaged case, and the other display cases looked like they might have been moved to cover the gap. I think he took the murder weapon. I don’t believe he had anything to do with the murder, but I think your buddy might be in possession of illegal firearms. If he’s hiding the murder weapon . . .”
    Fitch did not need to finish the sentence, and from Logan’s next words, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
    “Thank you, Detective. I’ll take care of it from here. You’ve done a fine job.”
    Fitch took a deep breath, then stood up to leave. He got to the door and turned around. “A buddy of mine was stuck up in the Quarter a few nights ago. We got the perp, who has since died from complications of drug and alcohol abuse, and we got his gun. It was an odd weapon