The Construction Murders E-Book

Arthur Leo Zagat

• Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Doc. Turner Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 24

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The Construction Murders by Arthur Leo Zagat is a riveting mystery set against the backdrop of a high-stakes construction project. When a series of gruesome murders disrupts the bustling construction site, the stakes escalate from mere accidents to a sinister conspiracy. As the body count rises, detective John Smith is brought in to unravel a web of deceit and danger. With each clue pointing to someone on the inside, Smith must navigate a labyrinth of greed, sabotage, and betrayal. Can he expose the killer before more lives are lost, or will the murderer complete their deadly blueprint? Dive into this taut, suspenseful thriller where the line between construction and destruction is dangerously thin.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

The Construction Murders

Synopsis

1

2

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Cover

The Construction Murders

Doc. Turner Series

By: Arthur Leo Zagat

Edited by: Rafat Allam

Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq Bookstore

First published in The Spider, October 1936

No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author

Synopsis

Like a rat leaving a doomed ship, he slunk away from the construction job on which he worked. Doc Turner, kindly protector of the downtrodden, saw the fear in his eyes, and—guessing at the catastrophe which threatened—went bravely forward to what seemed certain, ghastly death!

The Spider, October 1936, with "The Construction Murders"

1

ANDREW TURNER’S white eyebrows knitted in a startled frown. He tugged at his bushy, nicotine-browned mustache with the gnarled fingers of the aged, and the faded blue of his eyes darkened with puzzlement.

“Frank!” he called. “Frank Swayne! Come here.”

The old druggist’s thin voice was almost drowned by the rattling roar overhead of a train on the “El” structure that cast its long shadow on the bustle of Morris Street. The stocky man in drab, mortar-splattered overalls pretended not to hear the call but hastened his pace, hoping evidently to lose himself among the shawled women and long-bearded men jostling one another on the debris-strewn sidewalk.

“Frank!” Doc Turner’s cry pierced the clamor, imperatively. “Come here. I want to talk to you.”

A swarthy, collarless pushcart peddler blocked Swayne’s progress. “Hey, you!” he growled. “Dunchyuh not hear Docca Turner calla you?”

“Oh, yeah?” the wizened laborer quavered. “Yeah? I didn’t hear him.” He turned, his lime-whitened face somehow jittery, somehow furtive, reluctance apparent in every line of his stunted body. But the voice of Andrew Turner was the voice of authority on Morris Street. For many weary years the pharmacist had served the aliens and the defeated who swarmed the teeming slum with more, far more than his stock in trade. He was their friend, their adviser, their protector against the slinking crooks who prey on the helpless poor. His frail, feeble-seeming body had taken bullets, knife wounds, in their behalf, and they repaid him with a love and a loyalty that boded ill for any among them who defied him.

Frank Swayne came unwillingly across the pavement to where Doc waited for him in the time-scarred doorway of the ancient drugstore. His big-jointed hands twitched, hanging loosely at his sides, and there was a queer, craven fear in his eyes.

“Jeeze, Doc,” he muttered, standing before the old man almost ludicrously, like a small boy caught playing hookey. “I didn’t hear yuh.”

“Or maybe you didn’t want to hear me. Why are you on your way home, Frank? Why aren’t you on the job?”