Read Online Murder in Thrall by Anne Cleeland - Free Book Online

chief competition for advancement in the ranks but couldn’t despise him because he was tall and athletically handsome and therefore her natural prey. Doyle didn’t have time to wonder what he wanted; she was at the parking garage and Acton was waiting by the unmarked to open the door for her.
    She smiled and slid in, reading out the address. He would listen to her report on the way over, and she would then take notes on his thoughts or suggestions. We are like an old married couple, she thought; we know our routine. “He is William Blakney and presently on parole. His last run-in was larceny by trick; cheating pensioners—charmin’ fellow. There was a call to him from Giselle the afternoon before her death.”
    Acton thought about this. “How often did she call him?”
    “Not very often.” She watched him for a moment as he drove and ventured, “If he’s the killer, then it does not appear that the two murders are connected. It seems unlikely that a professional would have called it in to Dispatch and then hung ’round to watch the show.”
    “You are forgetting the scene was cleaned.”
    She leaned her head back against the seat in frustration; stymied again, and just when she had hold of a semi-coherent working theory. Giselle’s murderer knew his forensics; he was a professional. A professional who had called it in, apparently. “Why would he call it in, then?”
    “He wanted the murder discovered, and sooner rather than later.”
    This seemed obvious, but sometimes the obvious was overlooked and needed to be said. She knit her brow. “I wonder why?”
    Acton, apparently, had already puzzled it out. “The murder must have been a message, or a warning of some kind. The killer wanted another player to know of it.”
    “So it is probably not the end,” Doyle concluded soberly.
    “No,” he agreed. “The timing is of interest. There is a reason he wanted her discovered that morning rather than a day or two later. I will check to see if anything of interest was going forward on that particular day.”
    Doyle debated but decided she was not going to ask how Acton would find out when underworld doings were scheduled. “It is a rare shame that DCI Drake managed to avoid these two cases; they should be his by all rights.”
    “It evens out,” Acton replied philosophically as they waited at a light. “What was Giselle’s relationship with the dead trainer, if any?”
    “Oh.” Here was a wrinkle; perhaps there was indeed a love triangle going on, and the jilted lover was coincidentally a professional killer. “I’ll check on it.”
    They were almost to Fremont and he glanced at her. “Blakney may be dangerous; have a care.”
    Still smarting from his refusal to let her interview the medical personnel at the racecourse, she retorted, “Perhaps I should just stay in the car, then.” The moment the words came out of her mouth, she was horrified and desperately tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded—I’m that sorry, sir.” Her wretched, wretched tongue.
    With a quick movement, he pulled over and parked the car, then shifted in his seat to face her. Holy Mother of God, she thought; I am getting the sack.
    He ducked his head, gathering his thoughts, and then met her eyes. “You are very competent, but you have not the seasoning you need to help you judge when a situation is dangerous. Sometimes you are impetuous.”
    She listened and repented. “Yes, sir.”
    “The tack room.”
    She nodded. Excellent case in point.
    “You learn in this business that anyone is capable of anything. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
    This last was true, and she nodded again, ashamed of herself.
    He watched her for a moment. “Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir. I am so sorry.”
    He turned to restart the car, irritated. “I wish you would stop apologizing to me.”
    “Well then; I won’t anymore.” Apparently, her wayward tendencies had not been curbed by the lecture.
    A smile tugged at