Read Online Chill of Night by John Lutz - Free Book Online

a mismatch with the ugliness of the event, except for the hole in the material that was stretched across the curved back support.
    A little man in a black suit was bending over the dead woman with an intensity that suggested he was making love to her. As soon as Beam saw his balding head, with the thatch of gray hair that stood almost straight up in front, he knew who he was. Assistant ME Irv Minskoff, one of the best at his job.
    Minskoff sensed his presence and glanced up. His face had a fiercely gnarled look to it, softened somewhat by thick lensed glasses. “Ah, Beam. I heard you were on this one.”
    â€œGood to see you, Irv. What’ve we got so far?”
    â€œDead since morning, done sometime between seven and ten o’clock. Shot once. Bullet went in the right side of her back, probably angled in and caught her heart. I’ll know a lot more when I get in there.”
    â€œLooks like a thirty-two caliber.”
    â€œBe my guess, too. Can’t say for sure, since the slug they dug out of the wall’s so misshapen. But before it went through the victim, the bullet went through the back of the chair, and the hole in the underlying wood looks like it was made by a thirty-two.”
    â€œSlug must have been misshapen before it hit her,” Beam said, looking at the vast and ugly exit wound. He could imagine the kinetic force of the distorted bullet slamming through the woman’s slender body. His gaze took in her exposed shapely legs, slender waist, strong features. She must have been vital and attractive before the bullet. He noticed her mouth was smeared red in an obscenely crooked grin despite her horrified eyes. The smear wasn’t quite blood red. It was the same color as the letter J scrawled on the mirror of a small vanity cluttered with cosmetics.
    â€œNice legs,” Minskoff said.
    â€œGonna mention that in the post-mortem?”
    Minskoff gave him a gnarly look.
    â€œShot while putting on her lipstick?” Beam asked.
    â€œOr surprised by whoever she must have seen in the mirror. Caused her hand to jerk, then she was shot.”
    And almost immediately, Beam thought. It appeared that Beverly Baker hadn’t had time to stand up.
    Minskoff must have known what he was thinking. “Entry wound is about where it would have been if she’d been sitting all the way down on her little tush in her little chair, so maybe she did die while applying her lipstick. Could be she was so shocked by seeing her assailant in the mirror, her body gave a little start, then she was paralyzed.”
    â€œAs if maybe she saw somebody she trusted standing there with a gun pointed at her,” Beam said. “Somebody like hubby.”
    â€œHubby’s always enticing in these kinds of cases,” Minskoff agreed. “But then there’s that letter lipsticked on the mirror. My guess is the lipstick tube won’t reveal the fingerprints of the victim—or the killer, though I’m sure the killer wrote with it. This woman died instantly, but even if she had time to leave or begin a dying message, if it meant anything incriminating, the killer would have simply made it illegible or removed it from the mirror.”
    â€œSo Detective Minskoff is sure it was the killer who wrote on the mirror.”
    Minskoff grinned, embarrassed. “Just trying to help, not play detective. But, yes, I am sure.”
    â€œAlways the possibility of a copycat killer.”
    â€œI’ll keep an eye out for hairballs,” Minskoff said.
    Beam figured it was time to stop speculating and talk to Floyd Baker.

10
    While Nell and Looper made the rounds of neighbors and doorman, Beam sat on the living room sofa with Floyd.
    At both ends of the sofa were low tables supporting ornate brass lamps with long, cream-colored fringed shades. While the rest of the furniture was unremarkable, the lamps looked like collectors’ pieces.
    â€œI know it’s an awkward time to