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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
The Doves of Death by Arthur Leo Zagat is a heart-pounding mystery that weaves together suspense, danger, and a dark conspiracy. When a series of cryptic messages, each signed with the symbol of a dove, leads to a string of inexplicable deaths, a determined investigator finds himself entangled in a web of deceit. As he delves deeper into the case, he uncovers a sinister organization that uses the doves as a chilling signature for their nefarious plans. With each clue more perplexing than the last, the stakes escalate, and the line between hunter and hunted becomes dangerously blurred. Can the investigator crack the code before more lives are claimed by the doves of death? Prepare for a thrilling ride filled with twists and turns.
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Seitenzahl: 26
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
The Doves of Death
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
The Doves of Death
Synopsis
Doc Turner knew that sometimes pigeons carry messages of doom, as well as words of salvation. But he had never heard of murder-by-carrier-pigeon—until the night Fate promised to end his brave career as Champion of the Poor!
The Spider, April 1941, with "The Doves of Death"
1
ANDREW TURNER was increasingly certain that the gaunt young man's interest in safety razors was an excuse for a more obscure purpose. He asked his questions vaguely, and listened not so much to the white-haired pharmacist's replies as to sounds that invaded the ancient drugstore from Morris Street: pushcart peddlers' raucous cries, a jabber of alien tongues, the shuffle of many feet on cracked sidewalks.
An odd tenseness possessed the stranger's slender, gray-suited frame, and his lean countenance.
"Five dollars," he remarked, picking up the highest-priced razor, "must be almost a half-month's rent for a flat around here. You can't sell many of these."
"I didn't even stock them until recently," Doc Turner said. He tugged at his white, bushy mustache. "But now that defense work has driven the nearby factories to three shifts a day, there's more money being spent."
His customer flicked open the razor's head. Doc noted fingers that were long and strong, and exceedingly deft. "I suppose the new jobs have brought a lot of new people into the neighborhood?"
"No." The druggist's faded blue eyes went blank. "I haven't noticed any." His huge nose flared. "The plants have no trouble recruiting all the labor they need from among the people who've always lived here. They're only working on sub-contracts from the big companies, you see. They're not so terrifically important."
"Not important?" A thin and utterly humorless smile touched the other's straight mouth. "Aren't you mistaken? Seems to me that failure of this small stuff to come through on schedule might cause a bottleneck and upset the whole schedule." Replacing the razor in its box, he murmured, "You would be likely to know of any strangers coming to live in the vicinity, I take it."
"I rather think I would, Mr.—" Doc's eyebrows raised.
"Bailey," the other sighed. "Fred Bailey."
"I opened this store here more years ago than I care to recall." A hand whose skin was netted with veins gestured to the heavy-framed showcases, the sagging shelves of the ancient pharmacy. "The people of Morris Street are my family. I certainly should be aware of any newcomer among them."
"And there has been none?" Bailey persisted.
"Well," Doc pondered, "there is Charles Mount."
"Mount?" the gaunt young man repeated, and seemed to be testing his memory. "Charles Mount? What does he do for a living?"
