BLUE BLOOD RUNS COLD (A Michael Ross Novel Book 1) by M.A Wallace Read Free Book Online Page A

work. As a result, when he made a right turn then drove down a slight incline which led to a large red, white, and blue sign that gave the university's name, he was surprised to find that the tape had already flipped. Now, Geddy Lee sang about boarding the Thailand express. Michael turned off the stereo and pulled over to the side of the road, putting a red light on the roof of his car. He turned the flashing light on, though left the siren off.
                  When he drove down the first road in the college, there were no signs pointing the way towards the crime scene. At first, he saw nothing to indicate that a crime had been committed. He came to a stop sign at a three-way intersection and took a left. He passed a large building on his right with a solar energy collector placed out front. He drove slow, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. Though he had not yet found the scene of the crime, he knew that the atmosphere of the university would be an important factor in determining why a man had been murdered.
                  He saw on his left-hand side a profusion of yellow tape run about and a group of people gathering around something he could not see, presumably a body. He found a small parking lot on his right, and parked his car there, not caring if it was the right place or not. He got out, feeling the cold air bite against his skin more than it had outside his home. He opened up the trunk of his car and pulled a black woolen cap out of a plastic grocery bag. He put it as far down on his head as he could, covering up the tips of his ears and his eyebrows.
                  He felt, not for the first time, that carrying a Glock to a crime scene where police officers gathered was overkill. He was required to wear his service weapon whenever he was on duty, for he never knew what might happen. The reality he had discovered proved very different from the perception that many officers had. He knew officers who saw threats in every shadow. For them, no weapon was big enough, effective enough, or deadly enough to assuage their fears. He told them, when he could get anyone to listen, that a kind word went farther than a drawn weapon and a warning.
                  He walked up six steps to the crime scene. He saw a man he recognized, a middle-aged man with grizzled gray hair and glasses with wide frames. Chief Richard Metzger, the man in charge of the borough police, stood with his hands in pockets, a deep frown giving away his frustrated desire to have a cigarette. Though the Cumberland County police force had phased out cigarette smoking as much as they could over the last ten years, Chief Metzger hung on with a stubborn will, as he did with everything.
                  The man said, “Detective Ross, glad you could come on such short notice. I trust you aren't terribly inconvenienced?”
                  Michael wanted to answer that he had four other outstanding cases he was working on, but he knew what the chief would say in response. The death of a fellow officer, even one who worked on a college campus, always took top priority over every other investigation. He said instead, “I wasn't doing anything today. Might as well come in for the overtime.”
                  “Right, New Zealand. Hope you don't burn out, that's all I'm gonna say.”
                  Michael did not respond. Working for weeks on end always had people telling him that he should take more time off. Yet, when he took time off, someone wanted him back on the job. There was nothing to do but take such comments in stride, accept them in the helpful way they were presented.
                  He said, “Thanks for your concern. As long as I get enough sleep, I'm all right. What have you got for me?”
                  “Campus cop shot dead sometime in the night. Kevin Bailey, thirty-six years old, white male, six-foot-three, 252