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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Morris Street Murder March by Arthur Leo Zagat is a gripping detective novel that plunges readers into a maze of intrigue and suspense. When a series of brutal murders rocks the quiet neighborhood of Morris Street, the local police are baffled by the seemingly random killings. As the body count rises, a seasoned detective is brought in to unravel the dark and twisted motives behind the crimes. With every clue pointing in different directions, the detective must piece together a puzzle where nothing is as it seems. Will they catch the elusive killer before more lives are lost, or will the murderer continue their deadly march? Dive into this thrilling mystery and test your own detective skills.
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Seitenzahl: 29
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Morris Street Murder March
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
Morris Street Murder March
Synopsis
The swarm of humanity that teemed in the tenement-hives of Morris Street had forgotten the one man they all had reason to fear. It had been so long ago... But Doc Turner knew that the battered corpse in Hogbund Lane meant the return of the vengeance-mad Baron!
The Spider, February 1941, with "Morris Street Murder March"
1
OUTSIDE on Morris Street, hucksters harassed the throng thatshuffled, jabbering in a dozen alien tongues, along the cracked sidewalk. The slum's autumn evening brawled against the display windows and weather-stained walls of Andrew Turner's ancient corner pharmacy, but the drowsy quiet of the narrow prescription room beyond the partition at its rear was disturbed only by the slow plink, plink of lime water dripping from a huge glass filter into a five-gallon earthenware crock set beneath it on the floor.
The light that fell from a dust-filmed, pendent bulb tangled in Doc Turner's silken white mane. The hems of the threadbare alpaca store-coat that hung loosely about his stooped, frail frame were frayed. The hand with which he stroked his bushy, white mustache was loose-skinned and netted with an old man's swollen veins.
Satisfied that the filtration was proceeding properly, he sighed and turned towards the scarred roll-top desk standing against the wall. Among the clutter of papers on that desk was a pile of wholesalers' monthly statements that must be checked against daily invoices, the prices verified, the charges totaled, although where the money to pay the totals was to come from, the old druggist did not know.
It will turn up from somewhere, he thought as he sank into the broken-backed swivel chair. It always has—He was rigid, abruptly. His eyes narrowed a little as they fastened on the triply-bolted, seldom-used door to Hogbund Lane that flanked the desk.
The noise was repeated, a dull thump against the wood. Then a sort of rubbing sound moved downward along it and stopped. Now there was only the muted roar from Morris Street, the plink, plink of the filtering lime water—
That was a groan!
Turner got up out of his chair. He rattled back the bolts, twisted the key that stayed always in the door's rusty lock, turned its enamel-chipped knob. Hinges screeched eerily and the door swung inward faster than Doc pulled it, was being shoved inward—
A dark and shapeless thing folded limply in through the widening aperture, settled and lay still across the threshold.
The rest was vague, contorted bulk extending out into Hogbund Lane, but the dingy illumination in here made visible gray, too-long hair matting the back of a man's head and the dirt-encrusted upper half of a ragged garment that once might have been an overcoat.
A fusty stench rose to Doc Turner's nostrils, a reek of fabric and flesh alike corrupt. With the manifold musty odors of poverty Doc was much too familiar, but this rottenness sickened him, so that for an instant he could only stand and stare down at the apparently lifeless torso that had fallen over his threshold.
