Blood on the Arch; A Joe Keough Mystery

by Robert J. Randisi

• ISBN13: 9780312241797
• ISBN10: 0312241798
• Format: Trade Book
• Copyright: 2000-05-05
• Publisher: St. Martin's Minotaur

Summary

When a political aide, who is running for office is killed, it's up to Detective Keough to solve the crime. As more secrets unfold Keough must dig deeper to uncover political scandal. Filled with modern images of St. Louis, Robert J. Randisi spins another multi-layered murder mystery.

Table of Contents

One
THE SKY WAS filled with kites of all sizes, shapes, and colors. It was the Forest Park Festival of Kites, the first one Keough had attended since moving to St. Louis a little over nine months ago.
Valerie Speck was standing next to him, watching the display with wide-eyed fascination.
“How do you manage to keep them from getting tangled with each other?” she asked.
“You have to have the touch,” he said, “the magic t—”
“Luck?”
He laughed. “A lot of that.”
“I had no idea there were so many varieties,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun with her right hand. It was difficult to look up into the bright sky, even with sunglasses on. “Why is yours so . . . plain?”
“I like plain,” he said. “Besides, I hate having to reel them back in. It’d be foolish of me to buy expensive kites.”
Although they’d been seeing each other for just over six months—having met during his very first case in St. Louis—she had never been kite flying with him. She understood it was a private thing, a respite from the rigors of his job, and she respected that. What she didn’t know was that he also used the time to think, to solve problems, whether they were private or business related. He would never be able to do that if someone were with him.
This day was different, though. There were thousands of people and hundreds of kites, but no time to think or be alone.
The irony here was that Keough wanted to be alone with her, especially today. He had some things he wanted to discuss with her, but that would have to come later. . . .
A beeper went off.
“Yours or mine?” she asked.
“Mine.”
He looked down at the instrument clipped to the right side of his belt. He kept his holster on the left. The display was his office number. It was either Captain McGwire or his partner, Detective Al Steinbach. His money was on the captain.
Somebody was dead. He’d never quite thought of it that way before, but they only called him when somebody was dead.
“Joe?”
He looked at Valerie but decided not to let her in on his thoughts. Instead, he scanned the crowd.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
He held up one finger, then smiled, and beckoned her to follow him.
They approached a small boy of about five or six who was watching the kites in awe.
“Hello,” Keough said, crouching down.
The boy wiped his nose on his arm and said, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, mister.”
“Is that what your mommy told you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that shows how smart she is,” Keough said, “but you see,” and he took out his badge, “I’m a policeman.”
“A really real policeman?”
“A really real one.”
The boy looked at Valerie and asked, “For true?”
She had been watching Keough with the little boy, thinking how good he was with children—thinking it again, since it had been a child’s plight that had brought them together. When the boy spoke to her, she smiled reassuringly.
“Yes, he really is.”
“Do you have a kite?” Keough asked.
“No.”
“Would you like one?”
The boy looked at the string in Keough’s hand and then followed it up.
“Which one is it?”
“The red one, right up there,” Keough said, pointing. “It’s my favorite color. What’s yours?”
“Blue.”
“Oh.”
“But I like red, too,” the boy was quick to point out.
“Well, good,” Keough said. “It’s yours, then.”
The child started to reach out, then pulled his hand back, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I better ask my mom, first.”
“Why don’t you take us to her,” Keough suggested, “and we can ask her together?”
The boy thought this was a great idea, then tugged on Keough’s windbreaker, and led the way.
“Whatta we got?” Keough said into the pay phone.
“A bad one,” Captain McGwire answered. “Your partner’s down there, but I need you there, too.”
“It’s my day off, Cap.”
“I need you, Joe,” McGwire said.
Keough had spent his time in St. Louis becoming the city’s number-one homicide man. A lot of cops held it against him, but most realized he’d reached that point based on his abilities—abilities he’d honed working for the New York City Police Department for the better part of a dozen years. He liked being judged on his talents, he liked being needed, and he enjoyed being number one—even if it did occasionally interfere with his private life.
“All right, give me the address.”
“That’s easy. It’s under the Arch.”
“Under the Arch?”
“Right under it.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
He hung up and turned away from the phone to face Valerie, who had heard his end of the conversation.
“Who’s under the Arch?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll find out when I get there.”
“When we get there, you mean.”
“No,” he said, “you’re going home.”
“Can’t. We came in one car . . . yours.”
She had a point. Her car was parked in front of his house in the Central West End, which actually wasn’t that far from where they now stood.
“I can take you back—”
“I think you told your captain you’d be right there,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”
“Valerie—”
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Val—”
“You’re wasting time, Joe.”
He ground his teeth hard enough to make a muscle in his cheek jump, then he took her arm and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

Excerpts

One
THE SKY WAS filled with kites of all sizes, shapes, and colors. It was the Forest Park Festival of Kites, the first one Keough had attended since moving to St. Louis a little over nine months ago.
Valerie Speck was standing next to him, watching the display with wide-eyed fascination.
“How do you manage to keep them from getting tangled with each other?” she asked.
“You have to have the touch,” he said, “the magic t—”
“Luck?”
He laughed. “A lot of that.”
“I had no idea there were so many varieties,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun with her right hand. It was difficult to look up into the bright sky, even with sunglasses on. “Why is yours so . . . plain?”
“I like plain,” he said. “Besides, I hate having to reel them back in. It’d be foolish of me to buy expensive kites.”
Although they’d been seeing each other for just over six months—having met during his very first case in St. Louis—she had never been kite flying with him. She understood it was a private thing, a respite from the rigors of his job, and she respected that. What she didn’t know was that he also used the time to think, to solve problems, whether they were private or business related. He would never be able to do that if someone were with him.
This day was different, though. There were thousands of people and hundreds of kites, but no time to think or be alone.
The irony here was that Keough wanted to be alone with her, especially today. He had some things he wanted to discuss with her, but that would have to come later. . . .
A beeper went off.
“Yours or mine?” she asked.
“Mine.”
He looked down at the instrument clipped to the right side of his belt. He kept his holster on the left. The display was his office number. It was either Captain McGwire or his partner, Detective Al Steinbach. His money was on the captain.
Somebody was dead. He’d never quite thought of it that way before, but they only called him when somebody was dead.
“Joe?”
He looked at Valerie but decided not to let her in on his thoughts. Instead, he scanned the crowd.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
He held up one finger, then smiled, and beckoned her to follow him.
They approached a small boy of about five or six who was watching the kites in awe.
“Hello,” Keough said, crouching down.
The boy wiped his nose on his arm and said, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, mister.”
“Is that what your mommy told you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that shows how smart she is,” Keough said, “but you see,” and he took out his badge, “I’m a policeman.”
“A really real policeman?”
“A really real one.”
The boy looked at Valerie and asked, “For true?”
She had been watching Keough with the little boy, thinking how good he was with children—thinking it again, since it had been a child’s plight that had brought them together. When the boy spoke to her, she smiled reassuringly.
“Yes, he really is.”
“Do you have a kite?” Keough asked.
“No.”
“Would you like one?”
The boy looked at the string in Keough’s hand and then followed it up.
“Which one is it?”
“The red one, right up there,” Keough said, pointing. “It’s my favorite color. What’s yours?”
“Blue.”
“Oh.”
“But I like red, too,” the boy was quick to point out.
“Well, good,” Keough said. “It’s yours, then.”
The child started to reach out, then pulled his hand back, and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I better ask my mom, first.”
“Why don’t you take us to her,” Keough suggested, “and we can ask her together?”
The boy thought this was a great idea, then tugged on Keough’s windbreaker, and led the way.
“Whatta we got?” Keough said into the pay phone.
“A bad one,” Captain McGwire answered. “Your partner’s down there, but I need you there, too.”
“It’s my day off, Cap.”
“I need you, Joe,” McGwire said.
Keough had spent his time in St. Louis becoming the city’s number-one homicide man. A lot of cops held it against him, but most realized he’d reached that point based on his abilities—abilities he’d honed working for the New York City Police Department for the better part of a dozen years. He liked being judged on his talents, he liked being needed, and he enjoyed being number one—even if it did occasionally interfere with his private life.
“All right, give me the address.”
“That’s easy. It’s under the Arch.”
“Under the Arch?”
“Right under it.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
He hung up and turned away from the phone to face Valerie, who had heard his end of the conversation.
“Who’s under the Arch?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll find out when I get there.”
“When we get there, you mean.”
“No,” he said, “you’re going home.”
“Can’t. We came in one car . . . yours.”
She had a point. Her car was parked in front of his house in the Central West End, which actually wasn’t that far from where they now stood.
“I can take you back—”
“I think you told your captain you’d be right there,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”
“Valerie—”
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Val—”
“You’re wasting time, Joe.”
He ground his teeth hard enough to make a muscle in his cheek jump, then he took her arm and said, “Okay, let’s go.”