Nobody Move by Philip Elliot

Author:Philip Elliot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Into the Void via Indie Author Project
Published: 2019-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Alison dropped Charlie off at his father’s condo so his father could bring him to school later (it didn’t start until 11.00 a.m. today for some reason she hadn’t bothered to discover, glad of the sleep-in), not staying to receive another lecture from her ex-husband on the toll the job must be taking on her (this coming from a man who forclosed on people’s homes for a living and couldn’t give a shit), or, worse, be smugly gawked at by the perky-titted twenty-two-year-old he was fucking.

She made it to Indio just under two hours later and found the police station—a small, flat building located inconspicuously beside a wide and empty road—almost without realizing it. She parked her car in the near-empty parking lot and stepped out into the sunlight. It seemed brighter this far east of Los Angeles, the temperature a little higher. More than anything it was the silence that struck her. She could hear the softness of the breeze and nothing else. It felt peaceful, allowing her mind to slow down. She remembered something British horror author Susan Hill had said about it being difficult to write a ghost story set in a big city on a sunny day. Susan Hill had obviously never worked homicide in L.A. But out here, far from the city, surrounded by all this space—there were no ghosts out here.

Inside the station she flashed her badge and asked for Detective Holland.

A minute later a tall man with a mustache out of Magnum P.I. invited her into his office. It smelled like dust and coffee and appeared left behind by the twenty-first century.

“Detective Lockley,” he said, looking her up and down, “it’s nice to see you in person. Have a seat.” He flashed her a smile and extended a hand.

She sat down as Holland perched his ass on the corner of his desk, looking down at her, his crotch level with her head.

He said, “I must say, you’re even cuter in person than you sounded on the phone.”

She blinked at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, I’m just offering a compliment, no need to get hysterical.” Grinning stupidly at her.

“Offer me one more compliment and I’ll write you up for sexual harassment, how about that? And get your prick out of my face.”

The grin fell off him. He stood up and got behind the desk, sat down.

“On the phone you mentioned having some information about the gas station murders,” he said, looking pissed now. Men.

“I might have. Yesterday a lawyer was murdered in Los Angeles. Nothing new there, except that his wounds matched the wounds of your gas station victims.”

“So our killer moved on up to the city. I figured as much, given the fact the gas station’s off the interstate. How do you know it’s the same killer?”

“A three-inch-deep wound in the sternum from an uncommon, extremely sharp double-edged knife, his throat slit, and no witnesses? Come on, don’t insult me.”

“So, what, the guy’s on a spree?”

Alison almost rolled her eyes. “Think about it.

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