An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) Read Online Free

need to be here?” The younger of the two uniforms complained. “My wife is making my favorite dinner tonight.”
    “You’d better call her and tell her to put a plate in the microwave for you,” I said. “You’re going to be late.”
    He grimaced but before he could protest a dark haired woman, wielding a mini-tape recorder ducked under the tape. The young officer intercepted her with the ease of Viking’s lineman.
    She struggled against his embrace without success. “Detectives! Detectives!”
    She held her mini tape recorder in both hands straight in front of her as if she were waving a sword.
    “Please Detectives, just one quick comment.”
    I stopped and whirled around. My boot heel caught in the grout of the faux-cobblestone sidewalk. I listed to the side, and stumbled two steps to the left before catching myself. “I have a comment.”
    “Catherine?” Louise touched my arm.
    “It’s okay, Louise.”
    She let me go.
    The reporter shook out of the uniformed officers hands and straightened her jacket. She eyed him with a smug ha, ha look.
    “I’ll give this comment to all of you.” I took my place in front of a mob of reporters jockeying for the best position.
    “Here it is, and make sure you quote me accurately.”
    I paused for dramatic effect and to make sure the reporters had time to set their tape machines and video cameras to record.
    “You should all be ashamed of yourself. A child has lost his parents and you want to pick at the remains. All of you should get on your knees, and ask for forgiveness, for the vultures that you are.”
    A few audible gasps rolled up from the mass in front of me. Lights blinked off and the video and audio recorders drooped. I even received a “boo” from somewhere near the back, which prompted other boos from those less intelligent to think for themselves.
    There was a reason our former governor called the press media jackals. I could have cared less for the Governor’s politics but him and I shared an opinion of the press that few outside of law enforcement, politics, and celebrity stardom could understand.
    Before any of them could recover from their nose-tweak, and ask questions that would piss me off, I marched toward Pam Hind’s house. A roar of protests erupted about halfway up the walk.
    “Very concise,” Louise said. “I don’t think it will make them go away though.”
    “Nothing short of a toxic spill, from a drunk-driving tanker truck, that landed on the front law of the capitol building, and annihilated three bus loads of elementary school students, could move them from a double homicide in an affluent neighborhood,” I grumbled. “It doesn’t mean they don’t need to hear the truth now and then. Not that a one of them has conscience enough to process the truth.”
    Louise shook her head and smiled. “Your dislike for the media has reached legendary proportions, Catherine. Someday you’ll have to explain to me where this hatred for all things press related comes from.”
    Maybe I would. Someday but not today. Today she would just need to accept that I have my reasons.
    Louise charged up the front stoop of Pam Hind’s stone house, her shoes making a quick snick, snick, on the steps with each jog. My boots made a clop, clop, like horses hooves as I stomped up behind her. She rapped lightly on the door.
    After a few moments of waiting, my impatience got the better of me and I leaned on the white doorbell. Finally, sounds of life rattled from inside the house. Pam Hind jerked open the door, bent slightly at the waist, head forward like a dog that had gone feral ready to attack. When she saw Louise and me, her expression changed from one of attack to one of complete surprise. She straightened and took a step backward.
    “Oh, Detectives. I thought one of the reporters had gotten to the front door.” She jerked her thumb toward the back of the house. “A few have climbed the fence in the alley and have been knocking on the back door looking