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

about the cancer a few days after the funeral when Julie’s doctor called, concerned about why she’d failed to make her next appointment.
    “Realistically, she had maybe three to six months,” the doctor told Brad.
    “That was three to six more than we had together, thanks to the son of a bitch that hit her,” Brad told him, wishing he’d been able to help her through what was to be a short period of grief and pain.
    The time following Julie’s death was dreadful for Brad. He had difficulty keeping his mind focused on anything.
    Brad was a self-employed gunsmith who worked out of his home. He was also an independent contractor working as a wildlife exterminator. Brad’s sniper training made him the perfect choice for the duties involved in varmint removal. The task called for someone to either trap or exterminate persistent pests such as beaver, raccoon, or coyote who were infiltrating the world of the humans. Many of his referrals came through his gunsmith customers.
    Brad enjoyed the independence that came with being self-employed and self-sufficient, but that was when he had motivation at home. He spent much of this time now sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch, staring at and talking to Julie’s empty rocker next to him. So many times they spent their evenings there talking, laughing, sharing today and planning tomorrow.
    Brad wanted justice for Julie and for himself, and he was becoming less and less concerned about how he got it. He knew enough about the legal system to know the guilty seldom reaped all they sowed. He’d been told very little about the driver who struck Julie’s car, but one of the witnesses told him the man was a Latino. It would be months before the man would be tried for his crime, assuming he didn’t plea it down to a lesser offense or dash back to Mexico. Brad prayed that some silver-tongued defense lawyer wouldn’t be able to prevent this killer from paying for his crime.
    “There is something seriously wrong when a person can just kill one of us and walk away like nothing happened,” Brad told the assistant DA. “What’s happened? Where’s our protection?”
    I’ll tell you. It’s in my holster.

Chapter 3
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    Crimnal Justice Center
    Homicide Unit
    Nashville, Tennessee
    Monday Morning
    “Hey, Wolfe.”
    “Yeah, Lieutenant?” Detective Doug Wolfe rode his desk chair from his gray cubicle out into the aisle, so he could see Lieutenant D. W. Burris.
    “Have you seen Neal or Wallace this morning?”
    “I haven’t seen either one. Aren’t they working the Sandstone shooting from last night?”
    “Yeah, but we had an update scheduled at ten.” Burris looked at his watch. “Obviously, they’re late—again.”
    Burris was painfully punctual. The pain was all his. He tried to demand the same respect for promptness from his detectives, but he was convinced by each of them daily, it was pointless. His men had an unstructured job, and they always had an excuse for being late. He made an effort to tolerate it.
    At forty-seven, Burris had spent half his life with the Nashville Police Department. When he saw fifty sneaking up on him, he decided to reject the idea of getting old. He was determined to stall it, or at least give it one hell of a fight. He worked out faithfully at the department gym. He played racquetball with a passion and made it a habit to defeat all comers, regardless of rank.
    Burris’s desk was positioned so he could see through his office door and down the rows of matching cubicles to the entrance at the opposite end of the large room. It wasn’t that he had to monitor the comings and goings of his team, but this way his booming voice was better able to reach all the ears that needed to hear it. This morning most of the detectives were where they should be, on the streets conducting interviews and following up on leads.
    He heard movement at the far end of the room and looked up to see Norm Wallace’s bulky form fill the doorway. He watched