Bleed Out by Blake Banner (Dead Cold Mystery #23)
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller| ePUB | 3.2 MB
Bestselling author Blake Banner writes the “Dead Cold Mystery” series. The books are mystery novels where Stone and Dehan investigate cold cases. It began publication in the year 2017, when “An Ace and A Pair” was released.
Detectives John Stone and Carmen Dehan wind up partnered up, because they are both square pegs and their captain just wants rid of them.
The Cold Cases team at the 43rd Precinct in the Bronx tend to focus on homicides. But now, Detective John Stone, head of the team, is curious about a two year-old rape case. A rape case where Sadie Byrne got HIV, turned out to be a rapid progressor and died of AIDS within a year. She never named her attacker.
In New York law that did not constitute homicide.
What did constitute homicide was what happened to Chuck Inglewood, when somebody slipped into his house and, with a razor sharp blade, cut through the veins and the arteries in his underarms and his inner thighs, and left him to bleed to death. Why he was murdered was a mystery nobody could solve. Why he didn’t fight back was a deeper mystery.
“There are holes in the wall. They’ve chewed right through, but there are…,” she paused while she counted, “at least six dead rats here, and a couple of plastic trays.” She stood, pulled her cell from her pocket and made the call. While she was doing that I went into the bathroom. There was a tube of toothpaste on the sink, two toothbrushes in a glass. In the cabinet there was a bottle of painkillers, a couple of disposable razors, a box of tampons, floss. A tall cabinet against the wall, beside the bathtub, held towels and toilet rolls. Behind the shower curtain, at the end of the bath, I found shampoo, shower gel, a pink disposable razor. When I returned to the bedroom I found Dehan, with her hands on her hips, standing at the top of the stairs, staring down over the banisters. “So what happened here, Stone?” She began to move down the stairs as she spoke. “It’s early afternoon. We don’t know where he is. Maybe he’s in his office, working. Maybe he’s in the kitchen, clearing up after lunch. Whatever…” She had reached the bottom of the stairs and was looking around the living room. I stood beside her, trying to visualize the scene. “She goes to him, or she calls to him, ‘I’m going down the road to visit with Mrs. Nowak.’” She pointed across the room to the drapes, then walked over and pulled them back. The midday sun glared in. She held out her hands to me and I tossed her the keys. She unlocked the glass doors and slid them back so that fresh, bright air entered the room. “These doors are open,” she said. “So, in all probability she leaves through here, right? Or does she go to the front door? It doesn’t matter, either way, she leaves. She goes out and down to the sidewalk, she turns right and walks for a minute or less, climbs the stairs to the stoop and goes in to have coffee.”