Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Colleen Connally
useless to check for a pulse, but he did anyway. Leaning down, he shook his head. Nothing…stone cold. The man had been dead for a while.
A sudden scuffling noise made Kincaid turn his head. Without giving a thought to his own safety, he made his way into the house, through the kitchen, living room, and down the hall to the bedroom where the noises were coming from.
Looking as if he had tripped and fell on the floor, the stranger scrambled to his feet, covered in blood.
“Fuck!” the man muttered. Seeing Kincaid in the doorway, he bolted and knocked Kincaid to the floor.
Slowly, Kincaid rose. Inching up the side of the wall, he drew in a deep breath when he saw what the stranger had tripped on—a woman’s bloody body.
Her left arm crooked above her head as if she had made a vain attempt to fend off her attacker. The Persian rug bunched underneath the battered body, soaked in the woman’s blood. Her head had been smashed with repeated blows with a blunt instrument of death. The rage and force of each blow was evident with the splatter painted on the wall and furniture.
Blood was everywhere. Someone had beat the hell out of her.
Rushing to the back door, Kincaid watched the bumbling intruder run away. Fumbling for his phone, he dialed 911.
* * * *
Josh Kincaid stood on the lawn in a deep frown. The police had arrived to the grisly sight and he wasn’t happy. The woman he had hoped to interview had been murdered…bludgeoned to death from the looks of her.
Despite recounting his story to the uniformed officers, he had been asked to be available for the detectives after they had inspected the murder scene.
He glanced over at the young woman who had been detained as well. She sat in silence on the front steps of the house. From the looks of her, she seemed to be coming out of the shock of discovering a dead body.
She was a pretty thing. Not in a sophisticated way. She exuded an innocence…a vulnerability he had not expected from an Ashcroft.
Her wavy dark-auburn hair was cut in a fashion that called attention to her large, expressive eyes. He supposed they would be considered hazel, but the sunlight brought out a green tinge. Smiling down at the dog laying by her side, she looked simply lovely.
The pictures he had seen of her had not done her justice. Oh, as she had recognized him, he too, had recognized her. Riley Ashcroft. Granddaughter to Witt Ashcroft. Daughter of Jack Ashcroft…who had been the lawyer to Harrison Taylor, before he had committed suicide.
In old newspaper stories, Jack Ashcroft seemed confident in his case and had proclaimed he would prove Taylor’s innocence. Kincaid wanted to know why. Reading over the file, he saw nothing that suggested that Taylor was innocent, much less framed.
Kincaid had managed to get hold of the original police report. As he read, in his mind’s eye, he saw the night in question’s events unfold.
Working the evening shift in North Charleston, Officer Steiger and his partner, Tanner Rankin, had responded to a call for suspicious activity off Reynolds Avenue. When the officers arrived, Steiger spotted a new Chevy Silverado parked on the curb with its passenger door open.
While Rankin called in the plate, Steiger inspected the vehicle. The next moments were purely speculation pieced together on the evidence. Something—a noise…a light—must have distracted Steiger down that dark alley.
It happened quickly. Two shots rang out. By the time Rankin requested backup and raced to his partner, Steiger was dead and Taylor lay wounded, close to death himself. Police found syringes and drug paraphernalia in Taylor’s coat pocket, along with heroin stamps and powdered cocaine.
The pistol used to kill Steiger had fallen to the side of Taylor, with his fingerprints, and gun powder residue was found on Taylor’s hands. Seemed like a cut-and-dry case. Though Kincaid had found a few discrepancies. The question became: was it enough to devote his time in investigating
A sudden scuffling noise made Kincaid turn his head. Without giving a thought to his own safety, he made his way into the house, through the kitchen, living room, and down the hall to the bedroom where the noises were coming from.
Looking as if he had tripped and fell on the floor, the stranger scrambled to his feet, covered in blood.
“Fuck!” the man muttered. Seeing Kincaid in the doorway, he bolted and knocked Kincaid to the floor.
Slowly, Kincaid rose. Inching up the side of the wall, he drew in a deep breath when he saw what the stranger had tripped on—a woman’s bloody body.
Her left arm crooked above her head as if she had made a vain attempt to fend off her attacker. The Persian rug bunched underneath the battered body, soaked in the woman’s blood. Her head had been smashed with repeated blows with a blunt instrument of death. The rage and force of each blow was evident with the splatter painted on the wall and furniture.
Blood was everywhere. Someone had beat the hell out of her.
Rushing to the back door, Kincaid watched the bumbling intruder run away. Fumbling for his phone, he dialed 911.
* * * *
Josh Kincaid stood on the lawn in a deep frown. The police had arrived to the grisly sight and he wasn’t happy. The woman he had hoped to interview had been murdered…bludgeoned to death from the looks of her.
Despite recounting his story to the uniformed officers, he had been asked to be available for the detectives after they had inspected the murder scene.
He glanced over at the young woman who had been detained as well. She sat in silence on the front steps of the house. From the looks of her, she seemed to be coming out of the shock of discovering a dead body.
She was a pretty thing. Not in a sophisticated way. She exuded an innocence…a vulnerability he had not expected from an Ashcroft.
Her wavy dark-auburn hair was cut in a fashion that called attention to her large, expressive eyes. He supposed they would be considered hazel, but the sunlight brought out a green tinge. Smiling down at the dog laying by her side, she looked simply lovely.
The pictures he had seen of her had not done her justice. Oh, as she had recognized him, he too, had recognized her. Riley Ashcroft. Granddaughter to Witt Ashcroft. Daughter of Jack Ashcroft…who had been the lawyer to Harrison Taylor, before he had committed suicide.
In old newspaper stories, Jack Ashcroft seemed confident in his case and had proclaimed he would prove Taylor’s innocence. Kincaid wanted to know why. Reading over the file, he saw nothing that suggested that Taylor was innocent, much less framed.
Kincaid had managed to get hold of the original police report. As he read, in his mind’s eye, he saw the night in question’s events unfold.
Working the evening shift in North Charleston, Officer Steiger and his partner, Tanner Rankin, had responded to a call for suspicious activity off Reynolds Avenue. When the officers arrived, Steiger spotted a new Chevy Silverado parked on the curb with its passenger door open.
While Rankin called in the plate, Steiger inspected the vehicle. The next moments were purely speculation pieced together on the evidence. Something—a noise…a light—must have distracted Steiger down that dark alley.
It happened quickly. Two shots rang out. By the time Rankin requested backup and raced to his partner, Steiger was dead and Taylor lay wounded, close to death himself. Police found syringes and drug paraphernalia in Taylor’s coat pocket, along with heroin stamps and powdered cocaine.
The pistol used to kill Steiger had fallen to the side of Taylor, with his fingerprints, and gun powder residue was found on Taylor’s hands. Seemed like a cut-and-dry case. Though Kincaid had found a few discrepancies. The question became: was it enough to devote his time in investigating
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