Read Online Tarot's Touch by L.M. Somerton - Free Book Online Page B

pile of mail into his hands. As the most junior member of the team, one of his jobs was to open it, sort out the crap and distribute the rest.
    “The boss leaving you home alone then, kid? I’m surprised he hasn’t lo-jacked your arse or locked you in a cell for the night.”
    Conor dumped the mail on his desk. “Very droll, Pete. You’re hardly one to talk, considering your wife checks up on you at least eight times a day.”
    That brought snorts of laughter from around the room, and Pete gave him a wry grin. “She misses me, okay?” He gave Conor a friendly pat on the back. “At least she’s not a copper. I’ll bet you don’t get away with anything.”
    Conor made a round of coffee, distributed the drinks then set about opening the pile of letters. It consisted of the usual mixture of reports, memos and junk, apart from one slim white envelope. It was addressed to him. DC Trethuan was typed on it in what looked like the print from an old-fashioned manual typewriter. He turned it over in his hands but there was nothing else on the envelope to give him a clue as to where it had come from. There was no stamp or postmark. He slit open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of cheap, ruled foolscap. There was one line of text, typewritten, in the center of the sheet.
     
    THE TOWER FOLLOWS THE EMPRESS
     
    For a brief moment, Conor stared at the words while a tumult of emotion coursed through him. He felt as cold as ice and had to fight back the sudden and overwhelming fear that another psychotic killer had him in his sights.
    “Conor? What is it, lad?”
    Higgs’ gruff voice cut across Conor’s paralyzed thoughts.
    “A letter, Sarge. Probably a hoax.” Conor gave himself a shake and tried to think rationally.
    Higgs was across the room in seconds, looking over Conor’s shoulder. “Fuck. Someone get me an evidence bag.”
    Seconds later, the whole team had gathered around Conor’s desk. Once the note and the envelope had been safely sealed inside clear plastic bags, they were handed round so that everybody could take a look.
    “The Tower is another tarot card,” Conor murmured.
    “Nobody knew about the tarot card apart from us, the coroner and maybe a couple of the forensics chaps,” said Higgs. “There’s a very good chance that this is from the killer.”
    Pete fingered the bag carefully. “Another fucking nutter. This means there’s going to be another one, doesn’t it? Another murder?”
    Comments circled Conor’s head like angry wasps. He clenched his fist, pressing short nails into his palm to stop the shaking.
    “Phil. Hot, sweet tea. Now.” Higgs handed over Conor’s untouched coffee. “And get the medicine from my bottom drawer.”
    Higgs shooed the others away. “You’re bone white, lad.”
    Phil returned quickly and handed Higgs a small bottle of brandy.
    “I know you don’t normally drink, but a nip of this will do you the world of good,” Higgs said.
    Conor unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. Fire seared his throat and traveled all the way through his body until it hit his stomach.
    “Uugh! That’s disgusting, Sarge.”
    “Stopped you shaking, though.” Higgs took a photograph of the letter with his phone then slid the evidence bag into an envelope.
    “Pete, get this to forensics, will you? If we’re lucky, our killer’s an idiot and left us some DNA.” He took a seat opposite Conor and said what everyone else was probably thinking, “So, why you, Conor?”
    Conor took the mug of tea that Phil offered him and held it in both hands. The warmth was comforting.
    “I’ve got absolutely no idea, Sarge. We’ve only been working on the bloody case for two days.”
    “Whoever sent it knows your name, what you are and where you work. We have to let the boss know. He’s not going to like it.”
    “No! I mean…yes, tell him about the message, but don’t tell him it was addressed to me. I don’t want him canceling his trip. That interview might be