Murder on Old Main Street (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

to arrive was the volunteer ambulance, driven at breakneck speed by Tom Clancy. Tom taught high school mathematics and lived for these occasions, which tended to elevate his standing among his students. Customers poured out of the diner to see what all the commotion was about, and arriving employees of the business establishments that lined the street soon joined the growing throng.
    I was pleased to see Rick Fletcher, a young cop who had graduated from high school with Joey and one year ahead of Emma, emerge from the cruiser with his partner, who quickly began the job of backing off the crowd. Lieutenant John Harkness, the extraordinarily good-looking but perpetually dour commander of the detective division, stepped out of one of the unmarked cars. “Lieutenant Hardnose,” as he was known among the locals, quickly took charge of the crime scene. Rick grabbed a reel of yellow crime scene tape and began securing the area from civilian interference.
    Harkness supervised the preliminary investigation. He consulted briefly with the State police team that had apparently been summoned to handle the forensics, then spoke with the investigator from the medical examiner’s office, whose job it was to deal with Prudy’s, ugh, body.
    Once the bystanders were corralled at a safe distance, Rick’s partner produced a digital camera from their cruiser and carefully photographed the assembled crowd, while Rick himself walked over to where Emma and I still sat.
    “Hey, Miz Lawrence, Emma,” he said politely. After checking out our ashen faces, he wisely refrained from asking us to stand up, opting instead to plunk down companionably next to Emma. “So how’s your day going so far?” he asked her, straight faced, and got the desired effect. Emma broke up, which got me giggling, and the tension was broken. A few shocked onlookers were apparently persuaded by the others that we must be having hysterics, and who could blame us, poor things, having found the body and all?
    It didn’t take long for Rick to get the facts from us, as there wasn’t much to tell. His partner had replaced the still camera with a video cam and expertly panned the crime scene and the faces in the crowd. After listening to our story attentively, Rick nodded briefly and rose to his feet. “We’re going to have to take you down to the station to formalize your statements,” he said, offering me a discreet hand as I struggled to rise. Emma had already unfolded herself and dusted off the seat of her jeans. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour, but it needs to be done as fast as possible.” Nodding pleasantly at the gawkers on the sidewalk, Rick lifted the yellow crime scene tape for us to duck under, then shepherded us through the crowd to where a plainclothes detective waited by one of the unmarked vehicles. “Here’s your ride,” he smiled and introduced us to Detective Harold Bernstein.
    Looking around self-consciously, we clambered into the rear seat of the sedan and were whisked the mile or so to the Wethersfield PD’s new headquarters on the Silas Deane Highway. I was relieved to note that the blue emergency light was not in use.
    On the second floor of the pleasant brick building, we were escorted to an interview room, where Emma was ushered in first. Police procedure dictated that we give our statements separately.
    “I thought it was supposed to be age before beauty,” Emma sassed me, her poise now restored. She walked into the room and looked around with interest. “What, no stenographer?”
    “Sorry,” said Detective Bernstein. “Literate witnesses are asked to write out their statements in longhand. You could dictate to me while I enter your statement into my laptop,” he grinned apologetically, “but frankly, you’re better off with the pencil and paper. Our clerical assistant will type it up before you sign it.”
    “So much for high-tech police techniques.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you okay, ‘Cita?”
    “I’m perfectly