The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Начало книги

The wall clock showed 03.50 hours as the bell of the telephone on Sergeant Beigler’s desk rang briefly.

Beigler, a powerfully built, freckle-faced man in his late thirties, scowled at the telephone, glanced at the wall clock, then dropped a large, hairy hand on the receiver, scooped it up and snapped, ‘Beigler. Yeah?’

‘I’ve got Harry Browning on the line,’ the Desk Sergeant told him. ‘He wants you. Sounds like he’s ready to flip his wig.’

Beigler’s scowl deepened. Harry Browning was the owner of La Coquille Restaurant, one of the three top ranking restaurants in Paradise City. He was a personal friend of the Mayor and the Chief of Police, Captain Terrell. That put him in the Velvet Glove category so far as Beigler was concerned.

‘Let’s have him, Charley,’ Beigler said and reached for a cigarette. He looked regretfully at the empty carton on his desk. He had drunk the last of the coffee half an hour ago. Beigler had two vices: coffee drinking and cigarette smoking. ‘And send someone for coffee, Charley. I’m all dried out.’

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