Pat Canella , livre ebook

Seaview - Al Place

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16 pages

English

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Patti Canella starts the day in her dingy office with the usual pile of Cold cases that nobody else wants.Without realising one case opens a new life for her as she solves a cop-killing. These two stories are the start of a series about Pat Canella.

Informations

Publié par	Seaview
Date de parution	05 mai 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781908886767
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Al Place
Pat Canella
The dockland murders
Text: In June 2011, I started writing a story about a young girl named Patti. I started to write . . . As she was sitting in her dingy office, surrounded by dead cases, a man came in, looking for Pat. "Here I am," Patti said. "I guess you thought I would be a big Irishman or an Italian with a flick knife. After a while, I put the story aside, thinking, 'Out of sight, out of mind.' In October, 2011, on impulse, and not thinking of winning, I entered a competition at the Merrill Collection in Toronto. The prize was to be a pre-made cover. The date passed for closing, and I thought no more about it until I received an email that I had won the cover. Once I had seen the cover, I had my story line. The picture was of a young lady holding a smoking gun. I went back to the trash file and fortunately was able to retrieve the beginning of the story. With some dusting off and prettying up, Pat Canella was re-born. The cover is copyright of my friend Staci Perkins at Author Creations. I would like to thanks my friend and editor Valerie Byron (fee.valerie@yahoo.com) I would like to thank my friends Ruth, Hazel & Jane for their undying belief in me. (alanwplace@hotmail.co.uk) Editing/Proofreading: Valerie Byron All rights reserved. Publication Date: February 6th 2012 ISBN: 978-1-908886-76-7
The Dockland murders I stood there, the gun still warm in my hand, barrel smoking from the gun battle. "Why did he do that, Sarge? I tried my best to talk him out of it." "Living with the guilt finally got to him, Patti." "Couldn't he have talked it over?" "No, the only thing worse than being a dirty cop, is being the son of a loose cannon, and none came looser than Bill Chart, Patti." I looked around. There lay the body of Bill's son, my ex-partner, Adrian Chart. "I had no choice, he pulled first, Sarge," I said through my tears. "I know, Patti, we all saw it. Nobody blames you. It was his way out." The last thing I remember was the Sarge saying in a soft tone, "Take a week off Patti, something like this will haunt you. I know. I have been there myself." Dazed, I stood there, trying to remember how it had all started . . .
* * * I'd wanted an office and had pestered the sergeant for months for a place to work. For my sins, I'd got this dark and dingy office with paperwork piled high of old, unsolved murders. The air was dank with the musty smell of old paper, a place where light had long gone missing. This was Middleton Detective Agency. Even hardened drunks avoided this run down area of town. Sitting at the back of the office, I looked in desolation at the pile of old cases, Sgt. Pug Phillips had recently dumped on me. "Why don't I get anything good?" I muttered, knowing nobody was listening, or if they were, they didn't care. Cold coffee was still on the table from last night, the ring marks showing how I had spent the long, hot and humid days at Middleton going over old and long-forgotten cases which had been given to me just so I'd have something to do. "A young girl, trying to do a man's job" is what the crew said on that first day months ago." Here I was, stuck at the back end of nowhere, in a dark office so lonely I had to get my own coffee and doughnuts. The guys never took any notice. I often wondered if they would notice if I just didn't turn up. I'd never been a girlie girl. I was always looking for a mystery to solve rather than play with dolls or admire film stars. And this was my reward! A deadbeat job, in a run-down office, in the worst part of town. Sometimes, I wish I'd just got married like the others; had a nice cosy life and a good husband, I muttered to myself - then, 'Hell, no! Patti, where did that come from, gal?" The drudgery and boredom were getting to me. All these cases! Some go back to the '20's. Most of the witnesses are dead now, I mumbled under my breath. Trust me to get cases that are not only cold, but deader than the dodo. Sitting there alone, I was surprised to hear a knock on the door. I was more surprised that anyone knew where I was. Standing in the doorway was an old man, leaning on his cane. "Please come in and sit down." "Thank you, young lady," he said. "I have information on an old case, you might like to re-open." "Why not ask at the desk?" "They closed the book years ago, and don't want old wounds re-opened, that is why." "Which case is this ?" "It's one from the '20s. The Morrissey/Jeffries case." "What can you tell me about it and why should we re-open it now?" "I am telling you about it because I'm dying and I want to clear this case up. You get it re-opened, and I will let you know what I know." 'How can I trust you?' "Just tell Pug, that Dennis spoke to you." The man got up and walked back down the corridor. When I got up to see which way he went, all I saw was a whiff of smoke. Looking through the case files I was totally disheartened to see how many had just been left open, with no closure for the families. Back then, the force could not spare the manpower to chase up leads, what with all the gangsters and bootlegging.