Free Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2) by LYNN BOHART

of blood to mar the floral wallpaper behind him. His body landed with a thud, and he remained there, slumped to one side, his eyes staring straight ahead.
    The intruder stepped forward, but the old man didn’t move. Two fingers at the carotid artery confirmed that he was dead, so the intruder stepped back.
    “There you go, Alex. Better than a sleeping pill. Don’t you think?”
    A few minutes later, the intruder was back in his car, with a feeling of deep satisfaction.
    Now if only the job in Seattle would go as well. He didn’t have as much confidence in that one. But if the kid didn’t screw up, they were safe once again to pursue the little hobby he’d come to depend on.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    The next day, a gaggle of local reporters milled about the police station parking lot again. Giorgio parked on a side street this time and was about to enter the building by a side door, when Mia Santana called out to him.
    “Detective,” she yelled, running down the sidewalk. “Do you have a minute?”
    He turned away, intent on ignoring her, but then thought better of it; it would help to have the media on their side. He turned back and gave her a quick smile.
    “Ms. Santana,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
    She stopped short, her expression cautious.
    She was a petite brunette, with large brown eyes, a full mouth and long dark hair pulled into a loose pony tail. She had her microphone out, and her cameraman was poised and ready to shoot from behind her. Giorgio put up a hand.
    “Sorry. Not on camera,” he said.
    She paused and then turned. “Turn it off, Randy,” she said. She turned back to Giorgio. “Okay, do you know yet how the girl was killed?”
    “Not for sure. I expect we’ll get a full report today or tomorrow.”
    “Rumor has it that it’s Lisa Farmer. Can you confirm that?”
    He allowed his eyebrows to shoot up momentarily.
    “Where did you hear that?”
    “You’re kidding, right? It’s my job.”
    He rocked back on his heels a bit, thinking about how to answer.
    “The DNA test will confirm whether it’s Lisa Farmer.”
    “What about the flower and jewelry?” the young woman asked.
    “That too,” he nodded.
    He avoided any mention of his conversation with Lisa’s mother. No doubt the press would track her down before long, but there was no reason for him to destroy what little privacy she had left.
    “Jimmy Finn was convicted of her murder years ago,” Ms. Santana said. “Is there any reason to doubt his guilt after all these years?”
    “I can’t say. We’re only following up on a few things left over from 1967. Due diligence and all of that,” he said.
    “Have you talked with Ron Martinelli?” she asked.
    He smiled. “I have to go,” he said. Without further comment, he turned and went inside.
    He used the main hallway to cross from one side of the building to the other, passing through the small squad room to his office at the far end. When he entered, Swan was talking with Officer McCready.
    “I was just telling Chuck that I looked into when that patio was laid up at the monastery,” McCready said, as Giorgio took off his coat and threw it over a hook on the wall. “Believe it or not, it was back in 1967.”
    Giorgio’s eyebrows arched. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence?”
    “Yep,” McCready agreed.
    McCready had a round face, a splash of freckles across his nose, and short, spikey red hair that made him look like he was in high school.
    “When the monks and church elders decided to rent out parts of the monastery for things like weddings and conferences,” he said, “they needed a place for people to sit during the spring and summer. So they had the patio built.”
    “Too bad that won’t tell us when the girl was dumped into the well,” Swan said.
    “No,” Giorgio said, “but it narrows the field, and it gives us one more reason to believe this really is Lisa Farmer, since she went missing in 1967. Did you find exactly