Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) by Thomas K. Matthews Read Free Book Online Page B

was much bigger than that. This book would forever embed the author’s message on the face of publishing.
    And it was coming together exactly as envisioned. The research and planning for the third victim had been every bit as intense as the first two. All that remained was to finish the writing and then he could follow through. The killer paused to think, and then attacked the keyboard once more to put the finishing touches on the final paragraph. After a read through, the killer nodded in satisfaction, saved the text to disk, and then sent the file to the printer.
    * * *
    Collins laid a file folder on the edge of Andrade’s desk and took a seat across from the Captain.
    “Forensics typed the blood,” Collins said. “It’s all Orland’s. The shoes that made the footprints also belonged to the victim.”
    “Figures.”
    Andrade started to work his way through the crime scene photos.
    “This cut job and the NO HEART, obviously a message of some sort. He must have pissed somebody off.”
    “Whoever it was wore latex gloves,” Collins said, “because none of the handprints on the walls have prints. The bulb in the ceiling light was unscrewed. I figure Orland walked in, was incapacitated in some way and then killed while he was out of it.”
    The photos were every bit as horrific as those from the Petre case. Andrade’s mind reeled with the ramifications of a second ritualistic murder. He had been with the NYPD for eighteen years but had never seen this astounding level of atrocity. There had never been a serial killer in Malcolm, but it certainly seemed like they had one now, and a depraved one at that.
    “I talked to Orland’s family,” Collins continued. “They’re up in Buffalo. Took it pretty hard, especially when I told them how he died.”
    Andrade shut the file folder.
    “Can’t say I blame them.”
    “No kidding. Anyway, I got them to agree not to say anything if the reporters start calling.”
    “Which they probably will, and soon.”
    “Unfortunately, yeah.”
    “Any witnesses?”
    Collins shook his head. “A neighbor said there was a kid walking down the street with a dog but he had no idea if it was the victim’s dog. He couldn’t say what the kid was wearing or even what race he was. Besides, I have my doubts any kid could have pulled this off. The killer would have to be strong enough to hoist a six foot cab driver into the air.”
    “Not just a cabby, another literary agent.”
    “Yeah, that’s a hell of a coincidence.”
    “Or a pattern,” Andrade said.
    “Too early to tell.”
    “You think?”
    “I dug up some figures on that,” Collins said, pointing to the folder. “Agents are a dime a dozen around here. I found one web site that listed more than two thousand agents in the New York area alone. So it could just be the luck of the draw.”
    Andrade snorted. “Some luck. How long before we’re likely to hear back from forensics?”
    “A week, maybe more.”
    “Bullshit. Tell them to give this case priority. I want to wrap this thing up before it turns into a media circus.”
    “Amen to that.”
    The squawk box on the desk buzzed. Andrade punched a button.
    “Yeah?”
    “Lieutenant Bradshaw for you on line three,” his secretary said.
    “Shit,” Andrade said, and hit another button on his speakerphone. “Patrick. How are things downtown?”
    “Fine. I hear you’re having some fun out in your neck of the woods. Chief Smythe asked me to call and see if there was anything we could do to help.”
    Andrade rolled his eyes at Collins. “No, we got it under control.”
    “Really.” The disbelief in Bradshaw’s voice was obvious. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a psycho running around out there.”
    “Hey, so far it looks like the first victim was some loser who picked the wrong date to take home, and last night looks like a sex play gone bad. Cab driver, late night, bad choice, you know how it goes.”
    Andrade felt like he was tap dancing.
    “All right, keep us in