THE RIGHT TIME TO DIE Read Online Free

allowed her lobby access to the shops, theater, and recreational facilities that formed part of a larger development. Soon, she would be able to wake, ready and within minutes arrive at the office without ever having to set foot outside. Sara believed she might miss her regular commute by foot along the river, over the bridge, through the old town and into work.
    Shortly before one on the morning after the murder, Sara returned to her apartment. She greeted Bollocks her cat and prepared tea. She showered. Suitably refreshed, Sara retrieved the messages on her mobile.
    As expected, from Christopher Burke: “Where the hell are you, Sara? We’ve found the girl. Or the body, if you prefer. Call me, stat!”
    From Ed Dojcsak: “Hello, Sara. I imagine you’ve shut down your phone. When you wake, call me. We’ve found Missy Bitson and I’m afraid the news is not good.”
    After a respectable time, Sara gathered her things. She bade Bollocks farewell and left the apartment to make her way on foot toward the crime scene.

CHURCH FALLS, SOMETIME IN THE SEVENTIES
     
     
    “I HEAR SHE WASN’T...” Andy Pardoe paused, as if searching for the appropriate word. “I hear she wasn’t …fucked,” he said, finally. He uttered the phrase softly, fearing someone might overhear.
    “I don’t understand,” said Neal McMaster.
    Despite Andy’s caution, Neal’s older brother, Leland, had overheard and now joined the conversation, turning to Neal as if to explain . “He means like this, moron.”
    The older boy formed the forefinger and thumb of his left hand into a ring. Inserting his right index finger through the opening, he pulled it forward and back, forward and back in a rapid thrusting motion.
    “I know that ,” said Neal, visibly embarrassed. “But what does it mean ?”
    “It means she wasn’t raped,” Ed Dojcsak said.
    “C’mon, Ed, she was butt naked,” said Leland. As if to complete the statement, he added, “You knob.”
    “Her clothes could have been torn away on the rocks, after she went over the damn,” Dojcsak countered weakly.
    “Dojcsak,” McMaster said, “Do this town a favor. Don’t take up policing as a full-time career. ”
    Dojcsak shrugged, as if he hadn’t even considered it .
    The boys had gathered in a small knot by the river, within sight of the temporary bandstand on which a folk quartet plucked out a reasonable cover of the Ian Tyson classic, “Four Strong Winds”. The Fourth of July celebrations were understandably subdued. Hadn’t the body of Shelly Hayden been discovered only yesterday?
    After disappearing on the first of July, Shelly had resurfaced two days later, naked and dead, floating face up and wedged among a rough stone formation that extended from the shoreline, fifteen feet into the Hudson River at the base of the Church Falls dam. The water was turbulent here, the surface of the stone slick. The Fourth of July volunteers who had made the discovery made no effort to retrieve the body; to them, it was obvious the girl was dead.
    Shelly’s orange hair swirled around her scalp like a halo, obscuring her face, embracing her torso like a shawl. Her limbs bobbed in the water with the spastic motion of a drunken marionette. The polish on Shelly’s seashell pink toenails was chipped, belying the care with which it had initially been applied. From a distance, there was no visible sign of injury. Closer inspection showed her skin to be split in places like the peel of a rotted orange. That the injuries occurred post-mortem was small comfort to the firefighters who had been assigned to pull Shelly from the water.
    “She was dead as soon as she hit the river,” said Keith Chislett .
    “Says who?” asked Leland .
    “My old man,” Chislett replied. “He told Sheriff Womack. I heard them talking last night. My old man says she didn’t drown.” Then, “Says she wasn’t raped, neither. ”
    Avoiding eye contact with McMaster, Chislett shot Dojcsak a glance, as if it hurt for