Read Online Last Known Victim by Erica Spindler - Free Book Online Page B

outcome of this interrogation.”
    â€œAnd you’re not? Besides, who says we’re going strictly by-the-book?”
    He held her gaze a moment, then backed off. “Right. You’re the captain.”
    Ignoring the disappointment in his voice, Patti stepped into the interview room. Ben Franklin was short and thick, with thinning hair and a deep tan. She figured he either frequented a tanning salon or got his color from a bottle. He probably thought it made him look young and vigorous; in her opinion, freaky landed a bit closer to accurate.
    â€œHello, Mr. Franklin. I’m Captain O’Shay.”
    He folded his arms across his wide chest and scowled at her.
    â€œI need to ask you a few questions.”
    â€œI did nothing.”
    Of course not, sweetie. You’re as pure as the driven snow. “You ever heard of a writer named Anna North?”
    He eyed her suspiciously. “Who?”
    â€œA local novelist. Writes mysteries.”
    Some emotion flickered across his features, then was gone. “Yeah. I’ve heard of her.”
    â€œYou’ve read her books, haven’t you?”
    â€œWhat if I have?”
    â€œWould you call yourself a fan?”
    He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Read her in the joint. Lots of time to read in the joint.”
    â€œHave you ever written the author?”
    His gaze shifted slightly. “No.”
    â€œGone to one of her book signings? Met her in person?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAny idea then how your name and address would have ended up on her personal fan list?”
    â€œIf you’re suggesting I threatened her or anything, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”
    â€œI’m not suggesting anything, Mr. Franklin. I’m just asking a few questions.”
    He shifted in his seat. “Okay, yeah. I wrote her once.”
    â€œWhy?”
    He squirmed, looking uncomfortable. “For advice. About becoming a writer myself.” He met her eyes, the expression in his defiant. “I got a story to tell.”
    She took one of the magnets out of her pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of him. “Ever seen that before?”
    He stared at it, frowning. “What is it?”
    â€œA refrigerator magnet. For one of Anna North’s books.”
    Clearly unimpressed, he shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “So?”
    â€œYou have one of those on your refrigerator? Ever?”
    â€œNah. I’m not much for that kind of crap.”
    â€œI hear you were doing a little shopping today.”
    â€œWhat’s it to you?”
    â€œFlat-screen TVs. Crystal chandeliers.”
    â€œThat ain’t against the law, is it?”
    â€œNot if you can produce proof the items belong to you.”
    â€œI got canceled checks somewhere.”
    She eyed him, unsurprised. The “bad guys” always responded the same way—cheap attitude and lies. And perversely, she always enjoyed the show. Was taking twisted pleasure in watching suspects dig themselves into holes a character flaw? If so, nearly all cops had the same flaw.
    â€œWhere were you during Hurricane Katrina?”
    Spencer slipped into the interview room. Patti glanced at him and he motioned her to the hallway.
    Patti stood. “Why don’t you take a moment to work on that answer.”
    She followed Spencer into the hall. “What’s up?”
    â€œOfficer Lee finished searching Franklin’s vehicle. He found this tucked under the driver’s seat.”
    He handed her a plastic evidence bag. The bag held a gun. Standard issue Glock .45. The preferred weapon of the NOPD.
    â€œThe serial numbers have been filed off,” Spencer said.
    Glocks’ serial numbers were found in three places: the right side of the slide, the right side of the barrel and the underside of the front of the frame. She turned the bag over and inspected the places the numbers should have been.
    Should have been.
    Removing