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Cotton FBI - Episode 06

E-BookEPUB0 - No protectionE-Book
130 Seiten
Englisch
Bastei Lübbeerschienen am11.04.20141. Aufl. 2014
Digital Series. Episode 6:

Human bones were uncovered by a winter storm on one of Chappaquiddick's beaches. While examining the remains the police found a dozen more buried in the sand. Philippa Decker and Jeremiah Cotton from the FBI's G-Team are on the scene to investigate. They are supported by Dr. Connors, a retired forensic doctor from homicide. For a long time he had been convinced that there is a serial killer active on the island, but no one ever believed him. He asks the two agents to help him find the killer.
Just as a blizzard blows over the island, a dramatic showdown takes place ...

A new legend is born! COTTON FBI is a remake of a world famous cult series with more than one billion copies sold and appears bi-weekly with a self-contained story in each e-book episode.mehr

Produkt

KlappentextDigital Series. Episode 6:

Human bones were uncovered by a winter storm on one of Chappaquiddick's beaches. While examining the remains the police found a dozen more buried in the sand. Philippa Decker and Jeremiah Cotton from the FBI's G-Team are on the scene to investigate. They are supported by Dr. Connors, a retired forensic doctor from homicide. For a long time he had been convinced that there is a serial killer active on the island, but no one ever believed him. He asks the two agents to help him find the killer.
Just as a blizzard blows over the island, a dramatic showdown takes place ...

A new legend is born! COTTON FBI is a remake of a world famous cult series with more than one billion copies sold and appears bi-weekly with a self-contained story in each e-book episode.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9783838746739
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format Hinweis0 - No protection
FormatFormat mit automatischem Seitenumbruch (reflowable)
Erscheinungsjahr2014
Erscheinungsdatum11.04.2014
Auflage1. Aufl. 2014
ReiheCotton FBI: NYC Crime Series
Reihen-Nr.6
Seiten130 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Artikel-Nr.2188911
Rubriken
Genre9200

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe
4

Freshly showered and shaved the next morning, Cotton left his room and went down to the hotel bistro. Contrary to yesterday afternoon, now there were other people around. Decker was among the guests. She was perfectly attired and her make-up was flawless - as usual. A slight hint of perfume surrounded her. On the table before her, there was a glass of orange juice, a plate with a bagel on it, and a variety of different jams.

Cotton went over to the buffet and got himself a coffee and a plate of croissants. He sat down at Decker's table, and they began to discuss the day's agenda.

"We should split up so that we can work faster and finish before the snowstorm gets here," Decker suggested. "You question the people on the western side of the island, and I'll head east and try my luck there. We'll call each other if we find out anything important. Otherwise, we'll meet at the car at seventeen hundred hours and return to the hotel."

"Shall we give the sheriff a friendly visit?"

"What for? He got his instructions from me yesterday; he doesn't need to know anything more than that. Let him eat his donuts in peace with his buddies in the sheriff's department."

They left the hotel after breakfast. An icy wind greeted them on their way to the parking garage, stinging their faces. Dense clouds hung over the island, sending down sleet mercilessly.

There is only one town on Chappaquiddick, and houses are scattered sparsely across the island. To get into town, the agents drove across the bridge and continued on to the center of the island. When they arrived, they parked the car and went on foot from there. It was very cold, but at least it had stopped sleeting.

Chappaquiddick turned out to be a small, sleepy hamlet, but it still made a good impression. Large pompous Victorian villas intermingled with the dainty façades of smaller houses. The cold air had covered the roofs and streets with a layer of frost.

The two agents went their separate ways. Cotton headed west, walking towards the first of the nearby houses. He soon learned that the locals were more open than he had dared to hope.

Mrs. Cooper, a chubby, elderly lady who owned an average-sized, well-kept house, turned out to be an almost inexhaustible source of information concerning the people of Chappaquiddick. But her focus was mostly gossip, which Cotton had little use for. He was getting ready to leave when a shadow seemed to cross the face of the otherwise friendly woman.

"What's happening over at the beach, that's a real bad thing," she told him, lowering her voice. "Don't you agree?"

Cotton simply stood there, not knowing how to respond.

"Can you imagine how scared people are now?" the woman said in a conspiratorial tone. "The murderer could be anyone, isn't that right? And they haven't even figured out whether he's from here or not, I heard. I think that instead of worrying about ourselves, we should worry about the tourists next summer. Who wants to spend their vacation on an island where they might be murdered?"

Worried, Cotton left the house. How Mrs. Cooper had found out about the murders didn't concern him as much as the fact that the whole community would know about it by now.

He continued his questioning in the next house down the street. Mrs. Browning was a good-natured lady with her heart in the right place. But she couldn't tell Cotton any more than Mrs. Cooper had. As he feared - and expected - she also knew about the skeletons on the beach.

That was how it went the entire morning. The only real truth that came out of all his questioning was the fact that everyone seemed to know about the mass grave.

Cotton took a break at around noon in a coffee shop he had found along the way. A patrol car was parked out front. The coffee shop was incredibly full, and Cotton saw Pearce among the crowd. The sheriff seemed to be a regular lunchtime customer. He was sitting with two other people at one of the rearmost tables. Slowly and purposefully, he bit into his hamburger, keeping his eyes on Cotton.

Cotton pretended not to notice the sheriff. He ambled past the tables without the other customers taking much notice. People were busy discussing the skeletons on the beach, which naturally had been the number-one topic of the whole morning.

"Hey, Sheriff, is it true that you found two more skeletons yesterday afternoon?" one of the men called across the room.

Pearce grumbled something incomprehensible.

"It was probably a pervert," another man suggested.

Cotton sat at an empty table and kept his ears open. Sometimes you can find out more by eavesdropping than by asking questions.

He watched a young waitress bringing customers their orders. She was in her early twenties, very attractive, with an intelligent-looking, honey-colored face. She had a good figure, too - slim with very long legs. Her dark hair had dyed streaks and was combed to one side. Her white shirt was tucked into faded jeans, and she wore a pair of pink ballerina slippers. However, it wasn't so much her attractive appearance that enchanted Cotton, but rather the way she handled the rough guys at her tables, who were saying things to her that would make any other woman turn beet-red with embarrassment.

She came over to Cotton's table and asked perkily, "What would you like to order, handsome stranger?"

He liked the way she looked at him. "Do you have hamburgers and fries, or pizza?"

"Of course! Our coffee shop is well-known for its choice of entrees." She smiled mischievously. "But to handle the food, you have to have strong arteries. The delicacies here will boost your cholesterol to an all-time record high."

Cotton ordered a coffee, a hamburger, and some fries. The waitress brought his food out barely ten minutes later.

"You must've gotten lost, or are you trying to take your summer vacation now?" she asked him jokingly as she placed the plates and silverware on the table.

"There could be another reason for my visit besides a vacation," Cotton said with a charming smile. He had an inkling that the young lady may have taken a liking to him.

"If you let me read your palm, I might be able to find out why you're here, Mister …"

"Cotton. You can call me Jeremiah."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Jeremiah." She gave him a warm smile that would've made any man melt. "I'm Amy."

Gently, she took his right hand and turned the palm upward. She concentrated on the lines.

"Are you some kind of palm reader, Amy?" he asked her, amused.

She lifted her head and looked at him with bright green eyes. "Not some kind … I am a palm reader."

"Well, then, go right ahead. I'm very curious."

She concentrated hard on the lines on his palm for about half a minute. Then she said in a quiet voice, "You help people who are in need of assistance. You live in a city on the East Coast. And you've suffered the loss of a … no, of someone close to you." Cotton cringed. His instinct was to pull his hand away, but she held on to it with gentle firmness. "You feel responsible for this person's death, even though you're not to blame. You're someone who hardly ever shows his feelings." He felt the young woman's fingertips slide softly over the skin of his palm. "There is a woman in your life who you feel attracted to, but you would never tell her." Suddenly, her eyes opened wide. "I see something else, something …" She abruptly released his hand and looked at him with a distraught expression, whispering, "Please leave the island and go back home as quickly as possible, Jeremiah. Or else something very bad will happen."

"And what would that be?" Cotton asked, confused.

"Death," Amy whispered tonelessly. "Death will follow you here if you don't leave very soon. Someone on this island will die because of you."

"Hey, Amy," a bullish man called from behind the counter. He was bald and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. "Is that guy bothering you? You look like you saw a ghost."

"No - everything's okay, Dad," she answered.

She walked away from Cotton without saying another word and disappeared through a door behind the bar.

The special agent didn't give the incident any further thought, concentrating on his meal instead. After he had finished eating, the proprietor came over to clear the table, eying Cotton suspiciously.

"You're the FBI agent who was snooping around the beach yesterday, stopping our sheriff from doing his job?" he asked gruffly.

"That's correct," Cotton answered, remaining friendly. "But no one was stopping anyone from doing their job."

"We have our own police here," the man grumbled as he went back to the bar. "And they're better than you Hollywood types."

"Actually, I'm from New York." Cotton picked up the laminated menu to see how much he had to pay. Calmly, taking his time, he laid the right amount plus tip on the table. "Thank you … I'll find my own way out."

The whole place had gone silent. All eyes were staring at...
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