Download e-book for kindle: A Moorland Hanging (Knights Templar Mystery, Book 3) by Michael Jecks
By Michael Jecks
Cold-blooded homicide has reworked Simon Puttock's reliable legal responsibility into whatever horrid -- and he'll desire the capable suggestions of his pal, Sir Baldwin Furnshill, to attract a felony out. A former Knight Templar, Sir Baldwin is familiar with a lot of accountability and servitude -- and of evil freely indulged within the identify of godliness or greed. Now justice has to be served,even if their seek exposes extortion, foul corruption,rule by means of fear...and killers keen -- even keen -- to shed extra blood.
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Additional info for A Moorland Hanging (Knights Templar Mystery, Book 3)
That was an illegal casino, though. This was my first time in a legal 26 Parnell Hall—Favor [e-reads] one. In the illegal casino I’d lost fifty dollars. That time, of course, the wheel had probably been rigged. I figured the wheels in here probably weren’t. I also figured it probably wouldn’t make any difference. The odds are for the house, so eventually you’re going to lose, one way or another. The other thing was, all the tables, blackjack, craps and roulette, had a five dollar minimum bet. On my travel budget, that was just too steep.
I also figured if I got a ticket it would serve me right. Harold came out of the parking lot, crossed the street and went into an office building. I whipped out my pocket notebook and checked. Sure enough, that was the address MacAullif had given me for Harold’s firm. I didn’t follow Harold into the building. I didn’t want him to see me, and there would have been no point. I just stood on the sidewalk, cursing Harold, cursing MacAullif and cursing myself. I stomped off to a diner down the street, went in the men’s room, took the piss of my life and stomped back out again, without even feeling guilty that I hadn’t ordered anything.
At 8:25 the front door opened and a man came out. About thirty, 5’10”, one hundred sixty pounds, dark hair, blue eyes. I checked the photograph. Son of a bitch. It was him. Harold Dunleavy. The perpetrator himself. I’d done it. I’d identified him. Harold Dunleavy got in his car, pulled out of the driveway, turned left, drove past me, and headed back toward town. I gave him a head start, then pulled out and tagged along. 31 Parnell Hall—Favor [e-reads] There’s a trick to following someone in a car.
A Moorland Hanging (Knights Templar Mystery, Book 3) by Michael Jecks