Read 1971 - Want to Stay Alive for Free Online

car officer who reported hearing screams from McCuen’s residence and had investigated. His report sent Terrell, Beigler and Lepski rushing down the stairs to a Squad car, leaving Jacoby to alert the Homicide division. The report had left Terrell in no doubt that this was a murder: something that hadn’t happened in Paradise City for a long time, and the murder of one of the City’s more influential citizens.
    They had arrived at the same time as the ambulance and Dr. Lowis had arrived five minutes later.
    By now McCuen’s body was on its way to the morgue.
    “How is she?” Terrell asked.
    “Under sedation,” Lowis told him, coming to rest at the foot of the stairs.
    “You don’t talk to her for at least twenty-four hours. She’s half out of her head.”
    Having heard the details and seen McCuen’s body, Terrell could understand that.
    “Any ideas, Doc?”
    “A high powered rifle. I’m going back now to dig out the slug. It’s my bet it was a sophisticated target rifle with a telescopic sight.”
    Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.
    “How about the angle of fire?”
    “From above.”
    Terrell went with Lowis out onto the terrace. They surveyed the view ahead of them.
    “From somewhere there,” Lowis said, waving his small fat hand. “I’ll get off. This is your pigeon,” and he left.
    Beigler joined Terrell.
    They both looked at the view. Big Chestnut trees lined the edge of McCuen’s estate, beyond the trees was a highway, then space, then in the distance, a block of apartments with a flat roof.
    “Some shot,” Beigler said, “if it came from there.”
    “There’s nowhere else where it could have come from . . . look around,” Terrell said. “You heard what Lowis said: a sophisticated target rifle with a telescopic sight . . . could be Danvaz’s gun.”
    “Yeah. As soon as Lowis has dug out the slug, we’ll know.”
    “Tom?” Terrell turned to where Lepski was waiting, “take what men you want and cover that block of apartments. Check the roof and any empty apartment. If there are no empty apartments, check every apartment I don’t have to tell you what to do.”
    “Okay, Chief.”
    Lepski collected four of the Homicide squad and they went off in a car towards the distant apartment block.
    “Let’s go talk to the chauffeur and the Jap,” Terrell said.
    “Look who’s arrived,” Beigler said and groaned.
    A tall, grey-haired man had driven up and was getting out of his car.
    Someone had once told him he looked like James Stewart, the movie actor, and from then on, he had aped the actor’s mannerisms. He was Pete Hamilton, crime reporter of the Paradise City Sun and the City’s local TV station.
    “You handle him, Joe,” Terrell said out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell him about the rifle. Play it dumb,” and he retreated into the house.
    Herbert Brant, McCuen’s chauffeur, had nothing to tell. He was still shivering with shock and Terrell quickly realised he would be wasting his time asking questions, but Toko, the Japanese servant, who hadn’t seen the killing, was in complete control of himself. He handed Terrell the note that McCuen had so contemptuously flicked off the breakfast table. He built up for Terrell a picture of McCuen’s habits and character. The information he gave Terrell was practicable and helpful.
    Beigler was having a less happy time with Hamilton.
    “Okay . . . I know it’s just happened,” Hamilton said impatiently, “but you must have an angle. McCuen is important people. He’s been assassinated . . . like Kennedy! Can’t you see this is the biggest news story this lousy City has had in years?”
    “I can see it is news,” Beigler said, feeding a strip of gum into his mouth, “but where do you get the Kennedy angle from? McCuen isn’t a U.S. President.”
    “Do I get information or don’t I?” Hamilton demanded.
    “If I had anything to give you, Pete, you’d get it,” Beigler said blandly.
    “Right now, there’s