It’s a good day to die for lawyers. A deposition is about to begin in a large, metro law firm where the senior partner is breathing his last before a shooter barges into the conference room and redecorates with blood and brains compliments of his Glock nine.
The shooter seems like a nice guy. Admits everything, asks for his lawyer and the only question unanswered by the Central Precinct detectives is the motive. Lots of folks have grudges against lawyers, but this killer’s reaction seems a bit extreme even for clients with a distaste for the legal system in general and insurance defense lawyers in particular.
Detective Sergeant John Bowers and his interim partner Detective Max Bando need to start pulling threads at the scene of the crime and work backward to find answers. Preliminary investigation points to a related cold case involving the victim’s ex-wife. Is the shooter on to something?
And waiting in the wings is another Bowers ex laying landmines for John. His number-two wife Doris shows up for a repeat performance. Only this time she’s mixed up with some genuine bad guys, Mexican drug bandidos, and she’s eager to get John tangled up in her trouble. And meanwhile, John’s regular partner Detective Minola Raye is on the sidelines birthing twins when an unexpected twist and look back at a midnight tryst stops the clock.
A Cold Kill - A Detective John Bowers Mystery
A COLD KILL
“John, it’s me."Doris. Calling from the No Tell Motel on the 82nd Avenue Strip probably.
“Where are you?” He checked his watch. Two-thirty. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. “You check into a motel?
"It’s the Shangri-La off 122nd and Division. How soon can you get here?”
“Jesus Christ, Doris. You know what time it is?”
“Look, I’ve had some things to do. I’m going to take off for Florida. The damn DA is getting entirely too crazy about this thing with Stan. What if Tibi finds out I’m talking with the district attorney, huh? I have to look out for myself, Johnny. I’m on my own these days.”
“Yeah, and whose fault is that? You just blew your husband away, remember him?”
“Don’t try to give me a hard time. I don’t have any more patience since your wife tried to screw me over.”
“I want my stuff, John. All of it. Can you get it?”
He paused. He wasn’t going to get into an argument over the phone, and he wasn’t going to have her take off with the notion she could hassle him with her shit from now on. He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his shirt. Georgie pulled the covers over her head and buried her face in the pillow. No questions for now.
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“No games, Johnny. I mean it. You give me my stash back. Either the stuff or the cash. One or the other. No stalling and no bullshit attitude. Got it? Don’t play games with me. I can fuck up everything for you, Johnny.”
“I need a new start, Honey,” she simpered, playing on the sympathy he’d let run dry a long time ago. “Let’s part company friends anyway, okay? You know I hate to threaten you, but I can’t help it. Stan got me in this fucking mess, and it’s the only way out for me.”
“Sit tight. I’m on my way.”
“Gee, thanks, Sweetie,” she gushed. “It’s room 1203. I knew I could count on you to still give a damn.”
He hung up and stepped into his shoes. No socks. No shorts either.