The Dickens Mirror by Bick Ilsa J

Author:Bick, Ilsa J. [Bick, Ilsa J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781606844229
Publisher: EgmontUSA
Published: 2015-03-10T07:00:00+00:00

DOYLE

Murder Most Foul

1

FOR SOMEONE AS eagle-eyed as Battle, the man never saw it coming. Only a single pace separated them, and Doyle moved fast. Whipping his black knife from its sheath, angling it just right, Doyle pushed off his right foot at the same moment that his left fist snatched a handful of Battle’s shirt. The inspector had done him a favor, shucking that coat and unbuttoning his vest. Jerking Battle closer, Doyle drove the knife forward and up. He felt the slight tug as the sgian-dubh’s fine scalloped filework snagged on wool and then the give as the blade sliced through Battle’s undergarment to slip into skin and muscle at the notch of Battle’s rib cage. Stiffening, Battle pulled in a fast, small gasp.

No, no shouts, no screams! Clapping his hand over the man’s mouth, he bulled forward, steering Battle into his desk. Feet tangling, Battle fell back, and Doyle followed, forcing the knife in and then up up up! He heard the clunk of glass as Battle collided with the heavy whiskey bottle, which toppled and rolled, butting up against the oil lamp. Battle flailed, and there was a smaller tink-tink as he swept their shot glasses to the floor. Eyes bulging, Battle battened his hands around Doyle’s right wrist. Battle’s cheeks puffed like balloons, and Doyle could feel the man’s shout ball in his left palm.

There was the tiniest hitch, a small shudder as the knife’s tip grazed Battle’s heart. They were face-to-face, only inches apart. Battle’s eyes were wide and full of terror.

He wished he could say he was sorry for that. But killing Battle—knowing he was about to do the deed—felt so good it was like the rush of an injection.

Pinning Battle to the desk, he rammed the knife home. Battle’s body moved in a great, convulsive jerk; Doyle heard a faint uh that might have been either a last gasp or an attempt at a scream. A huge shudder that Doyle felt in his belly rippled through Battle. The man’s feet jittered a death dance, his expensive clamshells scuffing stone. Releasing Doyle, the inspector’s hands fluttered, briefly, then went limp. Still gripped in Doyle’s right hand, the black knife quivered, a kind of spasmodic flop, the sgian-dubh’s pommel lifting once, twice, three times … before stilling. A second later, the air filled with the pungent aroma of Battle’s bowels and bladder emptying.

Well, well, he thought wryly, talk about murder most foul.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.