J.V. Speyer [Speyer - Nine Cocktails

Nine Cocktails

By J.V. Speyer

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2019 J.V. Speyer

ISBN 9781634869874

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the authors imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

For Sophia.

* * * *

Nine Cocktails

By J.V. Speyer

Abby drummed her fingertips on her tablet as Mark guided their giant Crown Vic down Summer Street. Summer Street wasnt supposed to be this wide or open, and up by its start near Boston Common it was exactly as it should be. Down here by Fort Point, Summer Street had been widened, made modern and bland. It could be any street in any city in the country, and Abby hated it.

None of the widening changed the volume of traffic on Summer Street. Whether true to seventeenth century form or expanded to accommodate the twenty-first, Summer Street was always a clogged mess. Abby and Mark had lights and sirens to get them through the unholy tangle.

Where are all these people going? Mark gripped the wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. Shouldnt they all be home by now?

Nah, this is close enough to the Financial District. Theyre all putting in overtime, trying to impress someone. Abby scoffed. Her stepbrother worked in one of those buildings. She never could be sure which one. Steve-o changed jobs too often for her to keep track. Whatever it was he did, he made good money at it. She couldnt imagine it was worth the long hours.

Granted, here she sat, inching her way through traffic at nine-thirty at night on her way to yet another crime scene. At least Steve-o got paid for it, and paid well too.

She made a face. What do we know about this case?

Mark sucked his lower lip in, like he was about to drop an f-bomb. Then he glanced down at his wrist, where a rubber band dangled over an angry red welt. Marks kid was about eighteen months old now, and repeating everything that came out of Marks mouth. He was making a good-faith effort to clean up his language, something Abby had to applaud.

Not a whole lot, Mark said, once hed recovered his thoughts. We know weve got a dead body, throat cut. Vic is male, about thirty. Crime scene is outside The Gin Barrel and he hasnt been there that long.

Did anyone try to save him? If he hadnt been there all that long, it was possible someone had tried to save him. Maybe they could have. People did sometimes survive having their throat cut. At the same time, rescue attempts would have compromised the scene.

Abby curled her lip in disgust at herself. Compromising the scene should be the last of her worries, if there had been any possibility of the victim surviving. Instead here she was weighing the benefit like there was any comparison to saving a human life. Shed been in this job too long.

No. He hadnt been dead long, but the weather isnt great and no one wants to be out in it. The person who called 9-1-1 rolled him over and saw exposed bone, saw the blood, saw his eyes were fixed and glassy. There wasnt anything left to pump with CPR, according to dispatch. Mark shook his head and took the left onto A Street.

Yikes. A slashing like that would have been brutal. It takes a lot of rage to get to that point.

Mark grunted. Or a lot of training.

Abby snorted. Which is more likely, in Boston outside a bar? A ton of rage, or some Navy Seal creeping up out of Fort Point Channel to go cutting throats of random drunks in the night?

A tiny smile played at the corners of Marks mouth. Embrace your and , Morgan. Theres no reason a Navy Seal couldnt have crept up out of Fort Point Channel and cut someones throat good and deep. Maybe he was pissed off about all the tea. Or maybe it was road rage.

Abby snickered as Mark parked the car in a no-parking zone on Congress, right outside the bar. A few people honked their horns and gave them the finger. It was part of the job. Abby hardly noticed anymore.

She looked over the building in which the bar was housed. Shed never been in here before. Steve-o had sent her a link to the bars website. It was way too rich for her blood. Plus, the whole thing seemed kind of pretentious, almost like it was gentrifying Bostons past. The Gin Barrel was located in the basement of a building that had once been a warehouse, that had once been a factory, that had once been a different warehouse, with a once-notorious brothel on top. It had no flashing neon signs and didnt serve lowbrow anything , but it deliberately harkened back to the days when gin was a poor mans tipple. It was like they wanted to pretend there was something dashing and romantic about rats, human trafficking, and venereal disease.

She sniffed and walked past the stairs leading to the door. The medical examiner, Dr. Kessler, had arrived before them, but had waited before moving the body. She was ready now.

Kessler scowled. The person who rolled him over almost took off his head. She squatted and pointed to the massive wound in the victims neck, which lolled dangerously.

Abby grimaced. This isnt a throat slashing. Someone tried to behead this guy. The coppery scent of blood mixed with the low-tide aroma of the Fort Point area started to churn Abbys stomach. Lord, she shouldnt have had that paneer thing tonight. Dairy didnt agree with her most nights, but it was even worse when she had an especially fragrant murder scene to deal with. This could only be a rage killing. If they could figure out why someone would get angry enough at this guy to want to take his head like something out of Highlander , theyd find a suspect.

I cant speak to intent, and I cant get into specifics until Ive examined the body in the lab. But speaking in laymans terms, yes. The assailant did come close to severing the victims head from his body. Kessler wrinkled her pretty little nose. Transportation may be an issue. Well do our best, but Ive told the crime scene specialists to take extra care with photography just in case.

Christ. Thanks. I appreciate it. Abby looked around for Mark. He was in the alley between The Gin Barrel and the next building over, squinting at something on the brick wall.

Whatve you got here? Abby slipped a pair of nitrile gloves onto her hands and joined her partner.

Five wads of used chewing gum, all stuck on the wall in a neat little row. Mark waved at a spot on the wall, and Abby stared. Whoever had put the gum there had indeed lined the gum up perfectly. Maybe one person would have lined their wad of chewing gum up with the previous vandal, under an impish impulse or just by accident. Five people all doing the same thing was unlikely.