By J.A. Jance
A stunning picture screamed from front pages of the tabloids—the final moments of a existence captured for the entire international to determine. The glance of sheer terror ceaselessly frozen at the face of the doomed girl indicated that her deadly fall from an top tale of an unfinished Seattle skyscraper was once no determined suicide—and that glance will perpetually hang-out murder Detective J.P. Beaumont. yet his hunt for solutions and justice is resulting in extra loss of life, and to darkish and negative secrets and techniques scrupulously guarded by way of males of metal at the back of the locked doorways of a robust union that extracts its dues funds in blood.
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Extra resources for A More Perfect Union
Take him down to Harbor Station and off-load him onto your dock. " Harrison nodded. " Kramer's face turned beet-red. With a little help from his friends, J. P. Beaumont had won that round fair and square. I motioned for Officer Jackson. " Derrick was standing in a tight little threesome with Sam Goldfarb and Cassie Young. Officer Jackson looked where I pointed and nodded. "I see them," she said. "Go tell them to start getting their people lined up. " Merrilee Jackson flashed me a smile. "I'll be more than happy to do that," she said.
I left the whole bunch of them to their own devices and went in search of Woody Carroll. If I had walked off the set completely, if I had pulled up my pants and gone home, there would have been hell to pay. I didn't need to have both Captain Powell and Mayor Dawson on my back. I was mad, but not that mad. Not yet. After all, orders are orders. Instead, I hid out with Woody Carroll and some of the Lake Union Drydock employees. We settled down in the employee locker room and played several friendly hands of Crazy Eights on sickly green wooden lunchroom tables while Goldfarb went right on having his stupid cops do stupid things.
He had been there steadily from the time he got home from a Japanese POW camp in the Philippines until he retired in 1980. He was full of countless stories, and his tales had kept my mind off the bone spur for most of the day. Hiding out from a blazing sun, we had retreated into the gloomy shade of the pipe shop. Seattle was sweltering through an unusually hot, dry August. People who live in the Northwest aren't accustomed to heat. "I don't know what to think of these young 'uns today," Woody Carroll drawled, picking up his train of thought and resuming our conversation as though nothing had happened.
A More Perfect Union by J.A. Jance