With His Dying Breath Read Online Free

marked every tree in the yard not to mention getting crime scene technicians tangled up in the leash. He asked if they could talk later. He would like to get on home.
    “Just give me your phone number so I can make arrangements with you.”
    She interviewed countless neighbors. She went over every inch of the house, the black Prius in the driveway, the yard and even the two vehicles in the garage. Other than finding Mr. Attaway’s dog prints in the victim’s blood, there was not one bit of evidence. No weapon. No fibers. Nothing. Not yet, anyway. Detective Marabell appeared stumped this time. The phone call was all she had.
    The autopsy report would take several days so she would just have to keep digging. Something gnawed at her gut. She had returned to the precinct at five o’clock but decided another ride out to the house without all the onlookers would help.
    She radioed Detective Jasper Nelson, her partner on this case, and asked him to meet her at the house next door. “Jaz, let’s get down there and spread that crime tape out around the whole yard. I don’t want any more busybodies traipsing through there.” She did not even want anyone in the driveway or parked curbside until she could go over everything again.
    He arrived first and used the trees to extend the parameters with the bright yellow tape. I’d hate to rake this yard. He studied all the houses on the block. He wondered if this many people were out walking every day or were just curious observers for today.
    He eyed them suspiciously as if one of them c ould have done it. He knew the wife had been taken into custody, but he didn’t know why. Hilda had not found any incriminating evidence. There was nothing to tie Mrs. Brockton to the death of her husband. Nothing he knew about. A top defense attorney would have her released any time now.
    H e continued to stare at the houses and the nosy neighbors taking photos.
     
    * * *
     
    Austin Jones approached his neighborhood after another grueling day in Atlanta. He closed the deal on three Lexus automobiles that morning totaling almost $200,000. As a top salesman for the past ten years, he loved the business and the business loved him. His unique skill in sizing up the customer, weeding out the Saturday lookers and zeroing in on those who came to buy paid off in a handsome way.
    Many of his customers were celebrities who made their home in the suburbs of Atlanta. He particularly liked the sports figures that came around asking for him as if he were a celebrity of sorts since he had built a reputation of great service at a great price. Although he had no interest in sitting and watching baseball, football or tennis, he knew every detail of the sports especially the successes of the Atlanta jocks who were his customers. He knew them and knew them well.
    Austin was a man’s man with dark brown eyes, brownish-black hair with premature gray highlights and dark olive skin. His wife maintained his moderate length haircut. His physique was not intimidating but he definitely had that presence, that attitude that would just draw you in. At six four, he was perfectly proportioned. He avoided trendy clothes dressing instead like old money always filled his pockets.
    Riverside Station was by no means ritzy compared to some of the other neighborhoods in nearby cities, but it was the oldest in River Town. He and his wife, Anne, wanted to get their son out of Atlanta schools. All houses had nice large yards from two to five acres kept in a natural setting. There was no ordinance about the upkeep. If the grass needed mowing, no one sent a nasty gram or better yet hired a high-priced company to cut the grass and send you the bill.
    The house they bought had been in foreclosure . It had belonged to an elderly couple who due to extensive medical bills exhausted their equity, which was also their children’s inheritance. When the couple finally moved into a nursing home, which preceded funeral and cemetery costs, there was