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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
The Murder Torch by Arthur Leo Zagat is a pulse-pounding mystery that ignites with every turn of the page. When a notorious killer known only as "The Torch" leaves a trail of flames and bodies, panic grips the city. Detective Robert Chase is thrust into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, where each clue reveals more about the twisted mind behind the deadly blaze. As Chase delves deeper, he discovers that the Torch's motives are more sinister than anyone imagined, and the flames of revenge threaten to consume everything in their path. Can Chase extinguish the fire before it's too late, or will the city be reduced to ashes? Experience this gripping thriller where danger is always one step ahead.
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Seitenzahl: 28
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
The Murder Torch
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
The Murder Torch
Synopsis
The Morris Street firebug was not concerned with the torture-deaths which accompanied his ghastly work. But Doc Turner, suffering for each new death, vowed that he who lit the murder torch must die!
1
DOC TURNER switched out the lights of his drugstore on Morris Street, leaving a tiny nightlight hanging over the cash register, and moved wearily to the door. Outside he fumbled in his pocket for the key.
Furtive movement in a dark doorway across the rubbish-strewn street caught his eye. He pretended to be intent on locking his store door but was watching a reflection in the glass panel before him; a slouching figure which darted down chipped tenement steps and scuttled, ratlike and silent, past a darkened store- front to melt into the gloom.
Doc tensed. "Queer," he murmured. "I wonder..."
Somewhere a deep-toned bell bonged twice in the night silence.
The old man twisted the key in the lock and started away for his solitary room, his foot-thuds loud in the stillness. A window screeched open in a warped casing, and a woman screamed: "Fire! Madre de Dios! Fire!"
Doc's thin fists clenched. "Another!"—he groaned—"God in Heaven!" He whirled to the red-painted corner lamppost, his clawed fingers ripping at a brass hook projecting from a red box. The alarm-bell was strident above the screams of the woman at the open window.
"Fire—Fire!"
Andrew Turner hurtled across the gutter, sprang up the low stoop down which the prowler had scuttled only minutes before. He swiftly pulled the inner vestibule door open.
Flame burst out at him, red flame, roaring. Heat exploded in his face. He slammed the door shut, but not before he had seen the red streamers soaring up tinder-dry wooden stairs, up sagging, grease-filmed bannisters. Not before he had gotten one whiff of an acrid, pungent odor that was not smoke-smell.
Doc staggered down the stone stoop to the sidewalk edge. Above him, all up the side of the doomed building, white shapes leaned from open windows; screaming, shrieking in a polyglot pandemonium. He looked at the spidery, rusted fire escapes that crawled up the side of the building, and his face went bleak. Women, fat, unwieldy and clumsy-footed; long-bearded old men; tiny children scarcely able to toddle on level ground, must descend those rickety perpendicular ladders.
A far-off fire-siren wailed mournfully. The distant clangor of a bell hammered brazen alarm. The air quivered with the marrow- chilling panic of that most awful of human nightmares. Fire in the night!
The escape platforms were crowded, packed with white-clad, shrieking forms. Above it all came the thin, helpless wail of an infant. Doc could see its little arms flailing. The wizened father held it under one arm like a bag of potatoes; with the other hand he clung monkeylike to a rung of the ladder, his nightshirt flapping ludicrously about his scrawny legs.
