Death Through the Looking Glass by Forrest Richard;

Author:Forrest, Richard;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2016-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

11

“Can’t this hick town find a better place to have a meeting than this dump?” Captain Norbert picked up a shot glass and glared at the streaks along the sides.

Sarge Renfrow threw a damp bar rag and yelled, “Four cops in here don’t exactly help business, you know!”

Rocco waved. “Another round, Sarge.”

Norbert covered his glass with a palm. “We’ve got to get going. What else do you want to know?”

“How about putting surveillance on Dr. Blossom?”

“You’re the one who’s always yelling about jurisdictional rights. You do it.”

“In the first place, Norbie, I don’t have the manpower. And secondly, my men aren’t trained for that sort of work.”

“What do you have on Blossom?”

“Motive.”

“And an alibi for the time of both killings.”

“Yes, but that could be phony.”

Captain Norbert tapped Rocco’s badge. “You got as many years in this business as I do. You ought to know by this time that we can’t stake out everyone with a motive. We’d need the Russian army for manpower.”

“I think you have an obligation, Norb.”

“Bullshit! The prosecutor thinks he has a case, the grand jury will return an indictment, and my job is help them hang Giles and Middleton.”

“Wait a minute.”

They were off again, Lyon thought, as he twirled his glass and looked out the dusty barroom window. In a field across the street, two boys were flying a kite. It was a large one, shaped in the form of a black falcon, and the day’s quick breeze puffed it higher and higher. It bobbed and circled toward the radio station’s transmission tower, and if the boys let out more string, it was doomed to fatal entanglement in the steel girders.

The kite bobbed between two girders, weaved out once, and then was hopelessly caught above the ground. The larger of the boys tugged on the string until it snapped. His shoulders slumped as they both stared disconsolately at their entangled toy.

A vague thought began to nibble at the rim of Lyon’s consciousness. He reached for it, but it disappeared, leaving shadowy trails of a wispy but unformed conclusion. He would start at the beginning—He turned to see the two senior police officials shaking fingers at each other, while the two corporals fought to look impassive and choke back laughter. “I want to see the Esposito house again,” Lyon said.

Norbert turned to glare at him. “Will you keep out of my hair, Wentworth?”

“If he wants to see it, let him,” Rocco said. “Sometimes he comes up with things.”

“Wouldn’t if I could. The special task force on organized crime has the house sealed. Forget it.”

“Where’s the houseboy? What’s his name?”

“Koyota,” Rocco said. “You want his home address?”

“Uh huh,” Lyon said.

Lyon braked the Datsun behind two mopeds at the red light on the edge of the Murphysville green. He impatiently clenched and unclenched his fingers on the steering wheel while awaiting the turn of the light, and then he saw them at the corner. They stood by the main entrance of the Connecticut National Bank. While her partner extended

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