Read Killing Time for Free Online Page A

first thing this morning, and he hadn’t mentioned anything to her about having to go anywhere before going to the office. The secretary was afraid maybe he’d had a heart attack, so she called the department and I was dispatched out here to check on him.”
    “You found him?” Knox asked sharply.
    “Yes, sir. First thing, I checked the garage, and his car is still in there. I knocked on the door but no one answered.” She pulled out her notepad and glanced at it. “This was at oh-nine-eighteen. The front door is locked. I tried both the back door and the sliding glass doors on the deck, but they also are locked.”
    “How did you get in?”
    “I didn’t, sir. No one has. I came back around front and tried looking through the windows. He’s lying on his stomach in the middle of the living room floor.”
    “Possible heart attack?”
    “No, sir. He has a spear in his back.”
    “A
spear
?” Knox echoed, startled and not at all certain he’d understood.
    “Yes, sir. I estimate its length at roughly five feet.”
    They went up the steps together. The house was one of those newer houses built to make it look old, with a wide porch wrapping around two sides. The wood was painted white, and the shutters on either side of the tall windows were a neat dark blue. The porch itself was painted a medium gray, and looking down, Knox plainly saw one set of footprints on the planks. He pointed, and Carly said, “Mine.”
    There were no other prints. Not many people came to the front door, then. Taylor and his wife would normally have entered and left through the garage; because they were outside city limits, their mail was delivered by a rural carrier who put the mail in a box on the side of the road, instead of bringing it to the house.
    Carly directed him to the bank of windows on the left. The curtains were partially drawn, so he stepped to the side and looked in. The porch provided shade, and the lights were on inside; he didn’t have to press his face to the glass to see. A man lay prone on the living room carpet, his head turned toward them and—by God, it really was a spear in his back. A fucking
spear.
    Taylor Allen’s eyes were open and fixed, and blood had run from his open mouth and pooled around his head. He lay in that particular boneless manner that was achieved only in death.
    Knox had seen people killed by pistol, rifle, and shotgun; he’d seen people who had been run over by car, pickup truck, tractor, motorcycle, and big semis. He’d seen people who had been sliced and diced by a variety of sharp objects, from a pocket knife to a chain saw. This, however, was a first. “Not many people use spears nowadays,” he said pensively.
    Carly gave an abrupt cough, turning her back while she covered her mouth with her hand.
    “You okay?” he asked, not really paying attention to her while he studied the scene in the living room. “If you have to puke, go out in the yard.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said in a muffled voice. “I mean, I’m okay. Just had a tickle in my throat.”
    Absently he fished in his pocket, came up with a cough drop he’d been carrying around since winter and could never think to throw away when he was emptying his pockets, and held it out to her. She coughed some more as she took it from him, the sound stifled as she tried to control it.
    Nothing looked disturbed inside, from what he could see. No lamps were overturned; the furniture all seemed to be in place. For all the world it looked as if Taylor Allen had been caught unawares by a spear-throwing intruder—who could still be inside, though that was unlikely. The locked doors didn’t necessarily mean anything; most doors could be locked by turning a lock or depressing a button, then shutting the door as you left.
    Boyd Ray came hustling up, carrying a tackle box of his gear. “Whatcha got?” he said as he puffed up the steps.
    “A clean scene,” Knox replied, stepping back. “No one’s been inside.”
    Boyd’s red,