It was a dreary grey morning, and as Samantha walked past the station reception desk, the sargeant on duty beckoned her over.
"Don't know if this is too important but we got a call around two this morning from a Doctor Greenwood. A woman walked into St. Mary's clinic with a gunshot wound to the head. He treated her and then phoned it into us. By the time he went back to look in on her, she had scarpered."
Samantha, tired after a sleepless night, slammed her pile of files and briefcase on the desk. "Tell me something…when do you decide whether something is important or not?"
Seargent Frentow leaned across the desk, his face in hers. "Tell you what. I'm gonna' ring you tonight every time a call about murder or shooting comes in, and we'll see how much sleep you get, ok?"
Samantha snatched the report sheet from him and walked away without saying a word. The description was of a tallish woman in her thirties and a crease head wound. That suggested to Samantha that if it was Linda, the bullet had glanced off her head and was lying somewhere in the alley. It also indicated that the woman, presumably Linda, was running from either the law or a murderer – or both.
The doors to the office squeaked and jerked open as Jacob barged through, carrying a cup of coffee and an armful of paperwork. With a nod to Samantha, he put everything down onto his desk except one file.
"Before you say anything, I know, and I will be on my way to see the doctor shortly."
Samantha smiled. "Well, at least you're on the ball today, Jacob. There are security cameras there so get the tapes and let's find out what she looks like."
The desk phone rang. Jacob answered, his face breaking out into a wide grin. "Thanks, sarge."
He clicked his fingers. "Another body has turned up and another of those little pendants hanging around his neck."
“He?”
“Yes. You’ll never guess where, either.”
“Surprise me,” answered Samantha, reaching for her jacket.
“Right outside the club, you visited yesterday. Strange that, don’t you think?”
Samantha felt a chill run up her spine. All she could think of was Bernard. Was it him? Had he confronted Linda, assuming she was the injured woman and not dead as first thought? If he had figured something out, he could be in danger, unless he was already dead. Samantha’s deducing skills kicked in as she headed back to the car.
As they raced to the scene, Jacob looked at the headlines on the day’s paper Samantha had tossed between the front seats: Apex Pharmaceuticals Rock Wall Street.
Jacob shrugged and pointed at the headline. “Good job you and I don’t get involved in stocks and shares. A lot of investors committed suicide back in nineteen-twenty. It’s a game for the wealthy.”
They arrived outside the club, a patrolman greeting them. “Credit card found on him. Name’s Bancroft.”
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