Read Online Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) by Lauren Carr - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Carr
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replied, “An officer and a gentleman. Go ahead.”
Murphy crawled under the table to retrieve the gun and check the magazine.
“The victim’s name is Donna Crenshaw,” the detective reported while Murphy examined the weapon under the table. “Petty officer at the Navy Yard. She has a concealed carry permit and a forty-five caliber semi-automatic Smith and Wesson registered in her name.”
“It’s a Smith and Wesson. Could be hers. Three rounds missing from the mag.” He sniffed the gun. “Recently fired.” Crawling back out from under the table, Murphy noticed three bullet holes in the wall under the staircase leading up to the next level. “Assuming those bullet holes were made by this gun, she got off three shots before the killer took her out.” He carefully placed the gun back where he had found it.
Next to one of the overturned chairs, Murphy saw a smart phone. It also had a catalogue number next to it. “I assume your people processed this cell phone, too?”
“It belongs to your victim.”
Murphy turned on the phone to see a series of texts and missed calls listed. A number of the missed calls came from someone named “Izzy.” The picture showed a young girl with curly ash blonde hair and big light brown eyes. One of the texts read, “Mom, where R U? I’m worried.”
Murphy cursed under his breath before continuing to the next text conversation listed. She’s someone’s mother.
Someone from an unidentified cell phone number had texted:
Mtg set 4 7pm tomorrow. Pls come. Important. We need U if we R 2 stop him.
Donna’s response, sent at 7:12 the night before:
Running late. Accident has Route 7 @ standstill. B there ASAP. Count me in.
The reply back, sent at 7:27 pm:
No problem. We’re waiting for you. Front door is open. Just let yourself in.
Murphy made a note of the responding text’s phone number on his tablet. “Do you have all of the victim’s cell phones and numbers?”
“Still cataloging them,” Wu asked. “Why?”
“Our petty officer was running late last night,” Murphy said. “Accident on the beltway held her up.”
“Who wasn’t held up last night?” Wu replied.
A fuel truck had overturned on the Capital Beltway in Northern Virginia in the midst of rush hour, closing the freeway down in both directions. With commuters taking alternate routes, traffic in and around Washington had screeched to a crawl.
Murphy told the detective, “Someone had texted Crenshaw at 7:27 that they were waiting for her.”
Lieutenant Wu took the phone and checked the numbers in his notes.
Murphy glanced at the background report that the human services department of the navy had forwarded to his tablet. Donna Crenshaw was in the navy for thirteen years, after transferring from the United States Army where she had been a corporal.
She was lying face up on the blood soaked carpet. Murphy counted two gunshot wounds in her face, one in her shoulder, another in her stomach, and one in the chest.
“Someone really wanted her dead.” Cocking his head, Murphy studied her face through the blood. She did not appear to wear much makeup, if any. Her cinnamon colored hair was streaked with gray and trimmed short. Checking her background on his tablet, Murphy read that she was thirty-four years old. While her small build would make her appear younger, he could see by the picture in her personnel file that her face looked worn. “Only thirty-four.” He scrolled through the record on his tablet for the listing of her family members. “Why would someone want you dead, Donna? Who were you trying to stop and why?” He saw that she had never been married, but had a daughter.
Where RU? I’m worried.
Reading the age of the daughter, Murphy cringed. Thirteen years old. “Oh, God,” he breathed before swallowing hard. “Poor girl.” Glancing again at her face on the cell phone, he swallowed again. He remembered all too well his own mother’s sudden death when he was only sixteen years
Murphy crawled under the table to retrieve the gun and check the magazine.
“The victim’s name is Donna Crenshaw,” the detective reported while Murphy examined the weapon under the table. “Petty officer at the Navy Yard. She has a concealed carry permit and a forty-five caliber semi-automatic Smith and Wesson registered in her name.”
“It’s a Smith and Wesson. Could be hers. Three rounds missing from the mag.” He sniffed the gun. “Recently fired.” Crawling back out from under the table, Murphy noticed three bullet holes in the wall under the staircase leading up to the next level. “Assuming those bullet holes were made by this gun, she got off three shots before the killer took her out.” He carefully placed the gun back where he had found it.
Next to one of the overturned chairs, Murphy saw a smart phone. It also had a catalogue number next to it. “I assume your people processed this cell phone, too?”
“It belongs to your victim.”
Murphy turned on the phone to see a series of texts and missed calls listed. A number of the missed calls came from someone named “Izzy.” The picture showed a young girl with curly ash blonde hair and big light brown eyes. One of the texts read, “Mom, where R U? I’m worried.”
Murphy cursed under his breath before continuing to the next text conversation listed. She’s someone’s mother.
Someone from an unidentified cell phone number had texted:
Mtg set 4 7pm tomorrow. Pls come. Important. We need U if we R 2 stop him.
Donna’s response, sent at 7:12 the night before:
Running late. Accident has Route 7 @ standstill. B there ASAP. Count me in.
The reply back, sent at 7:27 pm:
No problem. We’re waiting for you. Front door is open. Just let yourself in.
Murphy made a note of the responding text’s phone number on his tablet. “Do you have all of the victim’s cell phones and numbers?”
“Still cataloging them,” Wu asked. “Why?”
“Our petty officer was running late last night,” Murphy said. “Accident on the beltway held her up.”
“Who wasn’t held up last night?” Wu replied.
A fuel truck had overturned on the Capital Beltway in Northern Virginia in the midst of rush hour, closing the freeway down in both directions. With commuters taking alternate routes, traffic in and around Washington had screeched to a crawl.
Murphy told the detective, “Someone had texted Crenshaw at 7:27 that they were waiting for her.”
Lieutenant Wu took the phone and checked the numbers in his notes.
Murphy glanced at the background report that the human services department of the navy had forwarded to his tablet. Donna Crenshaw was in the navy for thirteen years, after transferring from the United States Army where she had been a corporal.
She was lying face up on the blood soaked carpet. Murphy counted two gunshot wounds in her face, one in her shoulder, another in her stomach, and one in the chest.
“Someone really wanted her dead.” Cocking his head, Murphy studied her face through the blood. She did not appear to wear much makeup, if any. Her cinnamon colored hair was streaked with gray and trimmed short. Checking her background on his tablet, Murphy read that she was thirty-four years old. While her small build would make her appear younger, he could see by the picture in her personnel file that her face looked worn. “Only thirty-four.” He scrolled through the record on his tablet for the listing of her family members. “Why would someone want you dead, Donna? Who were you trying to stop and why?” He saw that she had never been married, but had a daughter.
Where RU? I’m worried.
Reading the age of the daughter, Murphy cringed. Thirteen years old. “Oh, God,” he breathed before swallowing hard. “Poor girl.” Glancing again at her face on the cell phone, he swallowed again. He remembered all too well his own mother’s sudden death when he was only sixteen years
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