A Murder Grimly (Turner Hahn And Frank Morales Crime Mysteries Book 5)

A Murder Grimly

The city’s wealthiest citizens are being hunted, and the killings are as deliberate as they are brutal. One by one, the powerful fall, executed by a murderer whose motive remains hidden and whose trail is anything but easy to follow.

When the case proves too difficult for ordinary police work, the South Side Precinct turns to the detectives built for impossible homicides: Turner Hahn and Frank Morales. Turner is a certified genius in a body no one could overlook. Frank is rich, handsome, relentless, and determined to see every murder case through to its bitter end.

Together, they enter a dangerous investigation where intelligence, instinct, and persistence may be the only things standing between the city’s elite and a killer who shows no sign of stopping.

Step into the crime world of Detectives Turner Hahn and Frank Morales in A Murder Grimly.

Excerpt from the book

The full moon hung low over the rippling waters of the Brown River. A big, yellow gumball of a moon. Clinging to the fabric of the night so close to the river, one could imagine reaching up and grabbing it with a gloved hand. Much like a sliding outfielder getting underneath a deep hit to center field.

As we rolled down River Parkway, the lush golden light of the moon illuminated the river on our left with startling clarity. While on our right, the forest of willow and red maples covered the steep slopes of Granger Heights, disguising the hill in what appeared to be a long-forgotten masterpiece painted by Van Gogh. And me, sitting in the passenger seat of my newest acquisition, elbow hanging out of the open window, the cool wind of the night blowing across my cheeks, experienced an odd and disturbing revelation.

Strange.

Even surreal.

How murder sometimes comes carefully slinking into the night, disguised on a canvas of divine beauty.

We slid into an empty parking lot and rolled to a halt facing the Brown River. Between the parking lot and the river was a long slash of white sand. White sand glowing unnaturally bright underneath tonight’s full moon. Beyond the white beach was the wide expanse of the slow-moving Brown River. At this point the river was at its widest. And the shallowest. One could almost walk, chest-deep, across the width of the river. Almost. If one could forget about water moccasins, black snakes, and big catfish. Catfish the size of a full-grown man. Snuggled deep into the river’s mud, sound asleep and not wanting to be disturbed.

Not me, brother.

At one thirty in the morning, the river was empty of any traffic. Except for one vessel riding on double anchors about eighty feet out from the beach. A big, expensive-looking houseboat. A seventy-foot-long double-decker with running lights blazing away, with a fourteen-foot speedboat riding the water tightly secured to the houseboat’s starboard stern. Whoever owned this setup had no worries about paying their bills. What we were looking at from the shore had to sail over the eight-hundred-thousand price tag with ease.

But I should back up here. I said Frank and I pulled into an empty parking lot to start the investigation. That was a misleading statement. There were actually two other vehicles sitting in the parking lot. One was a black-and-white patrol unit belonging to the South Side Precinct. Uniformed Officers Flattery and O’Connor worked out of this unit patrolling the streets on second shift. They would be the first responders to arrive on scene in any emergency. They would begin the initial investigation, preserving the crime scene, interviewing potential witnesses, and all the hundred other odd jobs encountered before a homicide team arrived on the scene. They also were the ones to call for a forensics team to come in and begin their work. But as Frank and I walked toward the tall figure of O’Connor standing maybe ten feet from the water’s edge, we noticed there was no forensics team nor their van anywhere to be seen.