Download Deadly Beloved (Hard Case Crime) by Max Allan Collins PDF

By Max Allan Collins

Until eventually demise DO US half Marcy Addwatter killed her husband – there’s absolute confidence approximately that. Shot him lifeless within the inn room the place he used to be trysting with a blonde hooker. Shot the hooker, too.   yet the place the police officers may possibly see an open-and-shut case, deepest eye Michael Tree – Ms. Michael Tree – sees a conspiracy. For Ms. Tree, digging into it may possibly suggest digging her personal grave... and digging up her personal murdered husband's.   in keeping with the longest-running private-eye comedian e-book sequence of all time, lethal liked brings you an all-new experience of the mythical Ms. Tree – the groundbreaking lady P.I. who positioned the ‘graphic’ into image novel...

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Additional info for Deadly Beloved (Hard Case Crime)

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In this town ever got better media than you did. I. anywhere ever did. ” “Yeah,” I said dryly. ” “All I’m saying is, we need to step up our staff. ” “No, because we haven’t done what Mike intended, maximize what we’re up to. ” I shrugged. ” “Well, I don’t. Particularly since we aren’t taking advantage of any of this good publicity. We need paying cases, Ms. Tree, and more of ‘em. Domestics are the bread and butter of any—” I shook my head. “No divorce work. ” “So is standing in the government cheese line!...

And that damn spear gun was poised to shoot again. Scrambling to my feet, I let go with four more rounds, four more thunder-cracks that tore holes in the afternoon and that rubber suit, and blood spurted in shimmering scarlet ribbons and yet still he came, the goddamn black-rubber Frankenstein monster, and I was moving backward, all but stumbling, still shooting, but soon the gun’s thunder-cracks had been replaced by the clicks on an empty chamber, and the sand made my retreat impossibly slow, and I felt hysteria come over me in a wave but I would be damned if I’d scream, and I was raising the empty weapon to club the son of a bitch when finally he tottered and collapsed in a pile of flesh and blood and rubber at my bare feet.

That’s my understanding, at least. Ms. ” He looked crestfallen. ” I stood. ” THREE In the lower level, which is to say basement, of police headquarters on South State Street, I found Lt. Rafe Valer in one of the eight cubicles on the firing range. Black, in his early thirties, Rafe—in a yellow shirt and a copper-color tie slung out of the way—was so angularly handsome he didn’t look ridiculous in those black-padded earmuffs and the wraparound sunglass-style eye protection. How I looked in the same gear—required of all who set foot on the range—I couldn’t tell you.

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