Bullet Beach by Ronald Tierney Read Free Book Online Page A

replayed the previous night. Something troubled him. The guy was waiting for them. If the murderer had stuffed bodies in the trunk of a random car why would he wait around? The guy waited because he knew someone was coming and he – and this was the thing Cross figured out at that moment – wanted the shotgun to be in their hands. It was an excellent set-up. The bodies and the weapon that were used to kill them, were all tied to Cross and Slurpy.
    Cross tried to see the guy. It was dark enough that all he could make out was the man’s build. Maybe a little taller than average – six foot something maybe. Fit. Skin not dark, but not light either. Baseball cap. Cross recreated the moment the man aimed the shotgun at him. The man held it at his waist. The man’s hands were lighter than his face. Could be he was wearing gloves. That would make sense.
    The man knew someone was coming to pick up the Lincoln. Cross could now be sure of that. The only person who could have known someone was picking up the car was Edelman.
    â€˜I know where you live,’ Cross said as he sat forward and put the old SUV in gear and headed north. Edelman lived not far from Cross – on 50th between Central and Washington Boulevard. The city was quiet as he took 21st to Sherman Drive then north to 38th and then up Central. He had gone from the small, quality-built, post-World War Two bungalow neighborhood through some tough areas and then gradually up to upper-middle class homes.
    The lights were on in Edelman’s house. In the back of Cross’s mind, he knew what he was doing was not a good idea. But he’d never rest until he had some resolution to the nagging doubts about his own future. A knock on the door. Then again. No one came. Cross remembered Edelman’s wife spent most of her time, even in the middle of summer, in Florida. It was an informal separation. He knocked again, this time harder and the door opened.
    â€˜Edelman!’ Cross called out. He stepped in calling out again and again, slowly checking each of the rooms. It wasn’t one of the giant homes in the area so it didn’t take long. The door in the kitchen that went out back was open. Cross stepped out cautiously. The darkness was sudden. He walked around the yard, this time calling out Edelman’s name softly. He came to the garage door. He could hear the car running. It was one of those older garages that have two side-by-side doors.
    Cross opened it and was swept back by the heat and, while there was no smell, he felt something evil invade his lungs. He stepped out, took some breaths and then held a deep breath, moving in, opening the door on the passenger side. The open door triggered the interior light. No Edelman. He switched off the engine and turned on the headlights. Still holding a hand over his nose and mouth, he saw the body, strung up by rope on the rafters.
    Cross backed out quickly, getting far enough away from the garage to breathe fresh air. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and started to punch in 911. Instead he called James Fenimore Kowalski.
    â€˜Usually when you call you interrupt a carefully prepared, long anticipated dinner,’ Kowalski said not allowing Cross to speak. ‘It’s past midnight. I wasn’t dining. I was doing the only thing that’s better than a fine meal.’
    â€˜Sleeping?’ Cross gave in.
    â€˜You live a petty, unimaginative life.’
    â€˜Not really. But you were having sex, I take it.’
    â€˜And you’ve destroyed it,’ Kowalski said. ‘How do you do that?’
    â€˜It’s a gift. Please apologize to her. It is a her, isn’t it?’ Cross had completely given in to the silliness of the universe and played along.
    â€˜I was just about to find out when you rang,’ Kowalski said. ‘Now it’s your turn to talk.’
    â€˜OK,’ Cross said with mock-enthusiasm. ‘I’m standing outside of