Sketch Me if You Can (A Portrait of Crime Mystery) by Sharon Pape

Author:Sharon Pape
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Police Procedural, Ghost stories, Police, Mystery & Detective, Murder - Investigation, Fiction, Police artists, Murder, Mystery fiction, Crime, General
ISBN: 9780425236048
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2010-08-03T00:22:13+00:00

At four o’clock Rory left what she now thought of as her paying job and went to Mac’s office to continue her pro bono work. She had to be out of there by tinue her pro bono work. She had to be out of there by the end of the month if she didn’t want to pay additional rent. It was taking her longer than she’d anticipated to transcribe the notes in Mac’s files and send them out to the respective clients. Between her paying job, moving into Mac’s house and investigating Gail’s death, she was often too tired to put in additional hours on the languishing files. But as the month drew to an end, the prospect of having to pay more rent was proving to be a great motivator.

When she arrived at the office and turned her key in the lock, it met with no resistance, as if the tumblers weren’t engaged. Her first thought was, “Great, I’m so preoccupied that now I’ve even forgotten to lock the door.” But as she stepped across the threshold into the reception area, it was clear that her memory was not at issue. She’d had a visitor during her absence. And it wasn’t the cleaning lady. The desk drawers that she’d emptied shortly after the funeral had been pulled out and thrown onto the floor.

For a moment she stood frozen in place, her mind trying to process what her eyes were seeing. Then her training kicked in. She set her purse on the floor and drew her gun out of its holster before advancing farther into the room. She knew that once she passed the partitioning wall, she’d be visible to anyone who might still be in the office proper. She waited another minute, holding her breath and listening for sounds of movement inside. She could hear the mechanical click of the wall clock, the muted sounds of traffic on the street below, the ringing of a phone in another part of the building and louder than all of them, the hectic thudding of her heart.

The odds were that the intruder was long gone, but since odds didn’t always favor the gambler, she flattened herself against the wall and edged forward. When she reached the doorway to the inner office, she gripped the gun in both hands to steady her aim and swung into the room shouting, “Police! Drop your weapons!”

The room had been thoroughly ransacked, but it appeared to be unoccupied. She checked behind the door and within the narrow coat closet. The only bathroom was out in the building’s common hallway. There was nowhere else for anyone to hide. She was alone. She didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath until it exploded out of her lungs with relief.

She looked around her. Nothing was where it belonged. All the furniture had been moved. Desk and filing cabinet drawers hung open, their contents scattered everywhere. The ceramic planters had been thrown to the floor and smashed, out of frustration perhaps when the intruder hadn’t found what he was looking for.

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