The Heart Hunter by Zelma Blitzreiter

Author:Zelma Blitzreiter [Blitzreiter, Zelma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00HTMH2T4
Goodreads: 21067895
Published: 2014-01-10T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Brax, the security guard, had shared a small apartment with his cousin Quint in one of Roxbury’s more gentrified blocks.

Two uniforms had informed Quint of Brax’s murder earlier that day, and taken an initial statement.

Jonathan J. Brax had been the child of an African-American soldier and a Seoul restaurateur. They had married and returned to Roxbury, where Sergeant Brax hailed from.

Young Brax had been a good kid, good student, good boxer. He’d followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the military—the U.S. Marine Corps rather than the army. Jonathan Brax had been an excellent marine with an excellent service record.

He retired at fifty years of age, and moved in with his cousin Quint, in the old neighborhood, which was being revitalized. Brax kept in condition, boxing at a local gym, coaching at-risk youth, visiting the firing range, joining the neighborhood watch, and running several miles each day.

Jonathan Brax had taken a job as a security professional with “Serv-U Guards” and had been given the plum Dunley Court post based on his exemplary skills and military record.

Brax was fifty-four years old when he was murdered. He’d been patrolling Dunley Court for three-and-a-half years, and was reportedly on good terms with all the residents.

No one, least of all Brax, had imagined he would end up slain, throat cut, and pushed into a trash bin in exclusive little Dunley Court…

Brax and Quint’s apartment was a neatly-kept bachelor pad. It was in an old building with high ceilings and large, big-sashed windows.

Trick noted automatically that there weren’t any dirty dishes on the kitchen counter or in the sink. There were no objects lying about randomly. Everything appeared to be stowed in its place, from food to dishes to books to clothing. Someone had recently vacuumed the faded old carpets and taken a broom to the hardwood floors.

Trick and Jonson went through the apartment, and searched Brax’s plain, almost Spartan room. There wasn’t much to find. His old uniforms, carefully bagged with cedar blocks. A strong box containing his important documents—passport, medals, military orders.

Brax liked crime novels, and there were several crime paperbacks on his night table. No medicines other than aspirin in his medicine cabinet. Aspiring, bandages, razor, shaving cream, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste. Brax had led a simple life; he was out of the military, but the military wasn’t out of him.

After their search had turned up nothing of particular interest, Trick and Jonson joined Quint in the parlor. Quint invited them to sit on an extremely uncomfortable old sofa, which they did. Quint offered them coffee or tea, which they politely declined.

Quint was drinking coffee. He was tall, like his cousin had been, but paunchy and out-of-shape.

“My cousin joined the marines,” Quint said ruefully. “I became an accountant. Sit on my ass all day. Oh well. We all have our parts to play.”

Quint was handling it stoically, but his eyes were red-rimmed. Brax’s death had hit him hard—harder than he wanted to show in front of two strangers.

“I want to assure you,” Trick said quietly, “that your cousin’s death is going to receive our full attention.

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