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Happiness Is a Warm Gun — Josh Covington
A washed up detective searches for a killer across a small town while running from his own demons and sleeping with only a rusty Smith and Wesson for comfort. Will he be able to find the culprit before the trail goes cold, or has the hunter now become the hunted?
PREVIEW
Police lights draped over the night, silhouetting the world in a haze of blue. Media had already enveloped the place, bustling about like frantic insects. I cased the scene from the outskirts, careful to stay in the shadows, waiting for just the right time to move in to avoid being caught by their flashbulbs. That was the last thing I needed.
I made my move sometime after 9:00. The number of cops around the house had reached critical mass by then, making it the best time for a guy like me to slip inside amidst the confusion, unnoticed and unaccounted for. With my fedora pulled down over my eyes, I walked toward the house, trench coat tailing behind me. I reached the front door, flashed a badge at a cop that didn't look old enough to have been to the prom, and I was in. Just like that.
Inside, bulbs popped, illuminating the scene with explosions of light. The air was filled with the bitter stench of fingerprint powder and adrenaline. What looked to be a dozen officers, some uniformed, others dressed in the distinctive jumpsuits of the forensics unit, milled through the house. No one seemed to notice me.
Good.
Two cops both wearing stark, solemn expressions stood off to the side, seemingly avoiding the havoc on purpose. They looked worn and flustered, like parents at the end of a child's birthday party.
“What have we got, Teddy?” I walked up to one and asked, reading his nametag.
“Female Caucasian, 52 years old. Name is Lucy McLean. Daughter found her going on two hours ago now.” He didn't give me a second look, his eyes glued to the deceased, his lip quivering.
The other cop piped up, this one staring through me with his eyes. “You on this case?”
“You could say that.” I turned back to Teddy. “Witnesses?”
“Naw, looks like the house was empty when she got popped,” Teddy answered.
“Leads?”
“Not yet, not really. I think they're just trying to take this thing slow, you know. This doesn't happen around here too often.”
I knew that it didn't happen here often. That was why I was here. It was the case I needed, the one that would have made him proud.
I thanked the two officers and pushed through the crowd toward the deceased. I found her in the center of the room, lying on her side on the blood soaked carpet, facing toward the door. Her arms were sprawled above her head, with the chair she'd been sitting in overturned on top of her.
“Shot in the chest three times,” I mumbled. I knelt beside the corpse. “Medical Examiner been here yet?”
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PREVIEW
Police lights draped over the night, silhouetting the world in a haze of blue. Media had already enveloped the place, bustling about like frantic insects. I cased the scene from the outskirts, careful to stay in the shadows, waiting for just the right time to move in to avoid being caught by their flashbulbs. That was the last thing I needed.
I made my move sometime after 9:00. The number of cops around the house had reached critical mass by then, making it the best time for a guy like me to slip inside amidst the confusion, unnoticed and unaccounted for. With my fedora pulled down over my eyes, I walked toward the house, trench coat tailing behind me. I reached the front door, flashed a badge at a cop that didn't look old enough to have been to the prom, and I was in. Just like that.
Inside, bulbs popped, illuminating the scene with explosions of light. The air was filled with the bitter stench of fingerprint powder and adrenaline. What looked to be a dozen officers, some uniformed, others dressed in the distinctive jumpsuits of the forensics unit, milled through the house. No one seemed to notice me.
Good.
Two cops both wearing stark, solemn expressions stood off to the side, seemingly avoiding the havoc on purpose. They looked worn and flustered, like parents at the end of a child's birthday party.
“What have we got, Teddy?” I walked up to one and asked, reading his nametag.
“Female Caucasian, 52 years old. Name is Lucy McLean. Daughter found her going on two hours ago now.” He didn't give me a second look, his eyes glued to the deceased, his lip quivering.
The other cop piped up, this one staring through me with his eyes. “You on this case?”
“You could say that.” I turned back to Teddy. “Witnesses?”
“Naw, looks like the house was empty when she got popped,” Teddy answered.
“Leads?”
“Not yet, not really. I think they're just trying to take this thing slow, you know. This doesn't happen around here too often.”
I knew that it didn't happen here often. That was why I was here. It was the case I needed, the one that would have made him proud.
I thanked the two officers and pushed through the crowd toward the deceased. I found her in the center of the room, lying on her side on the blood soaked carpet, facing toward the door. Her arms were sprawled above her head, with the chair she'd been sitting in overturned on top of her.
“Shot in the chest three times,” I mumbled. I knelt beside the corpse. “Medical Examiner been here yet?”
PURCHASE TO READ MORE
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