Read Online Bullet Beach by Ronald Tierney - Free Book Online

they are willing to plant bodies,’ Kowalski said, ‘it wouldn’t stretch the imagination for them to plant some jewelry.’
    â€˜And by “them” you mean?’ Collins asked.
    â€˜I believe you call them perps, don’t you?’ Kowalski said.
    â€˜Oh Kowalski, stop watching TV.’
    â€˜That’s where the cops are the good guys,’ Kowalski said.
    â€˜Maybe you don’t watch TV.’
    â€˜I’m engaged in real life.’
    â€˜Cross!’ Collins shouted to pull Cross from wherever he was. ‘What are we going to do? Swann thinks you need to be put away. Rafferty is spinning the idea that you should be referred to as a “person of interest” or “valuable witness,” rather than a suspect. But there’s only so much we can do when the evidence that keeps rolling in says it’s you.’
    â€˜I know,’ Cross said. ‘We’re not looking for an idiot.’
    â€˜That supposed to disqualify you?’ Collins said, smiling. ‘All right. We’ve been through this already, but let’s look at it again. Who has a hard-on so bad they’d go to all this trouble?’
    Cross shook his head in bewilderment. Then he looked up. ‘Edelman was the link between me and the trunk full of bodies. The only person who knew where I was going and when I was going, besides me, was Edelman.’
    â€˜So Edelman had to go,’ Collins said. He shook his head and made a face. Disbelief.
    â€˜Sure. The murderer is tidying it up,’ Cross said.
    â€˜Was Edelman murdered?’ Kowalski asked. ‘Do we know that?’
    â€˜Why would he kill himself?’ Collins shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna make the call. You can go home. I’ll have to deal with the DA in the morning. Who knows what will happen after that? In the meantime, keep your lawyer close. Right, Kowalski?’
    Cross sat up for hours, sipping on tequila. What he wanted was to sort out all of the details, make sense of them. He was – and he knew it – sabotaging the effort with each sip. It was his nature.
    He went outside, sat at the table under some pine trees. Casey followed him out and plopped down beside Cross’s chair.
    â€˜Thanks,’ Cross said. ‘I need a friend.’
    Cross wasn’t a sad, self-pitying drunk. Or an angry or mean one. He was a what-the-hell drunk. And he only got drunk alone. He’d let no one see him drunk, except for Casey. And Casey would keep his secrets.
    â€˜It wasn’t me they wanted to set up. They just wanted someone and I was handy. And really,’ he spoke into the darkness, ‘I was perfect. A low-life repo guy who has a track history of being involved in dirty business. Prostitutes, crooks, questionable deaths.’
    It was refreshing in a way because, despite the tequila, he was looking at himself clearly, at least in the way the cops would, as a jury would, as the general public would depending on media spin. He looked good for all three murders. It wasn’t a stretch.
    He had his work cut out for him.
    Shanahan woke earlier than Maureen. He pulled the drapery aside. Outside was an eerie gray; but the light was coming. She was enjoying her sleep. He was restless. He left a note in the unlikely event she would be awake before he returned. He went in search of a cup of coffee and an English-language newspaper. Outside the air was a vast steam room. The streets were flooded ankle-high in some places from the night rain. Soon the sun would bring it to a boil. He dodged the water that would soak his socks, zigzagged on sidewalks and streets eventually making it to a news-stand and then with a little luck to a diner. The streets were bustling. He watched as well-dressed women boarded dilapidated and very crowded buses. In the short, narrow alleys vendors were bringing wares out to the street. Motorbikes weaved around waiting