Read Online Fit to Kill by James Heneghan - Free Book Online

kept going, leaping over the curb and crashing into the fence with a scream of tortured metal. The BMW continued forward on the sidewalk, bucking and plunging, dragging chain-link fencing along with it into the parking lot.
    The lot was empty. She hung onto the wheel, keeping her foot down on the gas pedal. The car crashed into a concrete divider and came to an abrupt stop. The seat belt held her. Fingers scrabbling, she couldn’t get her door open, couldn’t release the seat belt.
    The wind howled.
    She turned her head painfully and saw him coming over the seat at her.
    The rain drummed steadily on the roof of the car like a dirge.

CHAPTER TEN
    SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16
    â€œA nother body this morning.” Jack Wexler’s mournful tones sounded even more mournful over the phone.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œStanley Park golf course.”
    â€œJaysus! That’s four.” Casey, just back from his run in the park, was beginning to cool down and couldn’t wait to soak in a hot shower.
    â€œBody discovered at six this morning. Old man out walking his dog on the golf course. His dog was sniffing around something. He went to look. Same as usual, naked torso. Except the animals had been at it. Bit of a mess.”
    â€œHow’d you hear so soon, Jack?”
    â€œFraser called me.”
    Detective Sergeant Fraser, Wexler’s old buddy.
    â€œYou call Ozeroff ?”
    â€œNot yet.” Wexler grunted and hung up.
    Casey was no sooner out of the shower than his phone rang again. It was Ozeroff.
    She was angry.
    â€œDid you hear, Casey?”
    â€œYeah, Deb, I heard.”
    â€œGoddamn maniac! Four women slaughtered and we can’t do a thing about it!”
    â€œEveryone feels helpless, Deb.”
    â€œI’m supposed to write a piece on tonight’s concert. I can’t go out. I’m terrified. Vera’s away at an acupuncture conference in Seattle.”
    â€œWon’t be another killing for thirteen days, Deb. You’re safe.”
    â€œMakes no difference. No woman is safe. I can’t risk it.”
    â€œStay home, Deb. I’ll cover for you. What kind of concert is it?”
    â€œVancouver Symphony. All Debussy. Orpheum Theater, eight o’clock.”
    Casey groaned. “Any chance there’s two seats? We could go together.”
    â€œShouldn’t be a problem. You sure you don’t mind?”
    â€œIt’ll raise my cultural quotient.”
    â€œYou’re a pal, Casey. I’m just sick about this latest killing.”
    â€œEveryone’s sick, Deb.”
    MONDAY, DECEMBER 18
    Casey and Ozeroff were working in their cramped office when Wexler arrived from Cop Shop.
    â€œThey got a make on number four,” he said. “Cops didn’t even need to call Victoria for id. Her insurance papers were in the glove compartment of her car.”
    â€œWho was she, Jack?” asked Casey.
    â€œLorraine Carlson, thirty-nine, magazine publisher, married, no kids, lived on Lagoon Drive, fitness center member. Car was swimming in blood.” Wexler sounded tired. “I tried to get a statement from the husband, but he’s in a state of shock. Couldn’t talk to me.”
    Ozeroff leaned her elbows on her desk, head in hands.

    â€œMy turn this time,” said Emma Shaughnessy.
    They pushed into Devlin’s out of the rain and found a seat, sharing with another couple, two men.
    She brought the drinks, coffee for him, steamed cider for herself, nodded at their companions and sat down.
    â€œDo you usually go away at Christmas?” asked Casey.
    â€œChristmas Day. To my cousin’s family in Port Moody. You?”
    He shook his head. Her dark brown hair had chestnut highlights, he noticed. It invited fingers. And looking into her eyes was like looking at a clear blue mountain lake. Or into a glacial crevasse, which he thought should have been a cold experience, but Emma’s personality was warmth itself.
    â€œDo