Mourn The Living. Henry Perez
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GRIM DISCOVERY
Chapa forced the door open as wide as it would go. An instant later, the sun reached inside the structure again, just enough to reveal a pair of legs sprawled across the dirty concrete floor.
The victim was sitting up, but in an unnatural way, folded not at the waist, but higher up, around his rib cage. Chapa rushed inside. He squatted next to the body, grabbed the man’s stiff shoulders and gently shook him.
The man’s head swung from side to side like a broken toy.
Then Chapa saw the blood, caked on the white starched collar, coloring his shirt. Chapa recoiled when he spotted the gash across the victim’s neck, so long and wide it looked like a grisly smile.
The blood appeared slick, which meant it was still fresh. Though Chapa figured the man’s heart had stopped pumping it ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago, tops. It was an educated guess, based on years of reading coroners’ reports and attending more autopsies than he wanted to remember.
The dead man could just as easily have been killed ten minutes after Chapa spoke with him, or ten minutes ago. And that’s when Chapa felt a cold chill surge through his body and into his mind.
The killer might still be in here.
MOURN THE LIVING
HENRY PEREZ
PINNACLE BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
For Cheri, who has been there through the good times
and the not so.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Baltimore, Maryland, 2005
The victim had died with money in his wallet, a loaded .22 in his jacket, and a strip of condoms in his right front pants pocket. One way or another, he’d been headed for a big night.
There had been a struggle, though not much of one. The kill had been as quick as it was decisive. A swift and determined swipe of blade across the sandy-colored skin of his neck, severing the head of the cobra tattoo that led from his chest up to his chin. A prime piece of prison ink, ruined.
The body was found alongside a nameless, moss-covered pond in McClain Park, stretched out between a cluster of trees and a large rust-bitten waste can. An early morning jogger, still working on breaking that day’s first sweat, mistook the mound of humanity for some homeless guy passed out by the water—a rare sight in this part of town. Then he saw the blood, and started sweating.
Baltimore had become known for its violent crime in recent years. Turf wars and careless tourists routinely led to dead gangbangers who hadn’t seen it coming and battered out-of-towners who never imagined it could happen to them.
But this one was different. This corpse didn’t belong here, not in this quiet residential part of town