WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) Read Online Free

Norm trying to prevent the heavy metal door from clanking shut behind him, announcing his arrival.
    “Did you lose your Rolex, Wallace?” Burris shouted as Norm turned and aimed himself toward his boss.
    “Uh—no, Lieutenant,” Norm said. “Sorry we’re late. Didn’t Mike leave you a voicemail?” Norm said, preparing his defense as he strolled to the door of Burris’s office.
    “I haven’t had time to pick up voicemail, Wallace. I have been working.”
    “Lieutenant, we were sort of attacked while we were eating breakfast,” Norm said, as his ample girth stressed one of the cheap metal-framed chairs in front of Burris’s desk.
    “You were what?” Burris leaned forward, dropping his forearms on his desk pad.
    “Gabriel Sanchez is the older brother of the victim from the Sandstone shooting last night. He saw us having breakfast, drove up behind our car and took issue with the fact we were feeding our faces instead of searching for his brother’s killer.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “Kinda what I thought at the time. The goofball even took a swing at Mike. That was a bad idea.”
    Hearing the door as it closed, Burris looked up and watched Mike approach his office. “Detective Neal. Glad you could join us.”
    “Morning, Lieutenant.” Ignoring the sarcasm, Mike took the chair alongside his partner.
    “Norm tells me you had a confrontation this morning?”
    “You could say that,” Mike said, preparing his folder for their discussion. “Nothing like starting your day with a little hand-to-hand combat.”
    “What happened?”
    Mike shared the details of their morning adventure and assured Burris that the EMS team cleared Sanchez, confirming he was okay after his brush with forced unconsciousness. Burris admired Mike’s skills, but he hated it when the detective used combat moves he’d learned in the Army. Some were capable of injuring people, and most were against departmental policy.
    “Okay, what have we got so far on this Sandstone shooting?”
    “Victim was nineteen,” Mike said, “male Mexican-American. He was delivering pizza—worked for Pauletti’s off Nolensville Road. He was robbed and shot. Three nine millimeter brass were found at the scene; no prints. Victim took two in the chest and one under his eye which left a large exit wound in the back of his skull.”
    “What’s the medical examiner’s schedule?” Burris asked.
    “I put that call in on the way here,” Mike said. “I left her a message. I know she’s short-handed now and blitzed with work.”
    “Do you expect any revelations from the autopsy?” Burris asked.
    Mike looked up. “I can’t imagine what they would be.”
    “I’d say the nine was the cause of death,” Norm said, shrugging his shoulders and offering a faint smart-ass smile as he glanced up at Burris, and then at Mike.
    Burris looked over the top of his reading glasses at Norm. “No shit?”
    “I know.” Norm exchanged solemn looks with Mike, “This stuff comes to me all the time. It’s a gift.”
    Mike turned his attention back to his notes, refusing to comment on Norm’s weak attempt at humor.
    “We spoke with four witnesses who admitted they heard loud talking, gunshots or both,” Mike said scanning his notes. “Our most confident witness is a single black female, forty-seven. Her apartment is on the second floor facing the common area from the shooter’s right. Says she turned off her lights when she heard the shouting. She went to the window and looked out the edge of her mini-blinds. Said she saw muzzle flashes—couldn’t remember how many. She said she saw Sanchez drop, then she witnessed three men run to a dark colored car at the end of the parking lot. She let us know she’s tired of all the violence and wants to know why we can’t do something about it, so she and her neighbors can live in peace.”
    “That’s quite an observation from a civilian,” Burris said.
    “I thought so. I asked her how she was able to see