Sniper's Moon
Carsten Stroud
Language: English
Pages: 428
ISBN: 0553762648
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
As the New York City Police continue to find the mutilated bodies of murder victims--all of whom were somehow connected to NYPD sniper Frank Keogh--the department begins to suspect that the Vietnam veteran Keogh may be the killer. Reprint. K.
stones of the patio. Keogh stood there for another three beats, staring at his wife’s naked bottom, watching her as she went on tiptoe across the flagstones and out onto the lawn. Halfway to the shimmering blue of the in-ground pool, she turned and waved him on. The sight of his wife standing naked on the family lawn, in the middle of the family lawn furniture, the outrageousness of the thing filled him up and pulled him out the door. Natural velocity carried him to her, standing there in the
DEAD There it was … May 13, 1960. A Friday. Christ, Friday the thirteenth. A front-page banner in the Flagstaff Eagle, pictures of a doll-like little Oriental girl with black hair and wide eyes and a tentative smile. Keiko Chung. Dead at two years. The story was elliptical, as these stories are. A sexual assault was denied but rose from the wording like the smell of something rotting under the front porch. The Flagstaff police expected to make an arrest within hours. Which meant they had
twenty-two years. “But I always found it hard to believe that God would take Madelaine away from me by fucking with the wiring on a backyard pool. I just couldn’t get next to it.” There was another long silence. What was there to say to any of this? Frank had seen enough of little deaths. Men killed because they carried a canteen half-full of water and the sound of it sloshing around got them shot by a sniper. An FNG dropped an M-29 grenade into his own foxhole one night while he was playing
overheated Smith on the tarmac. His three rookies were huddled at his feet, staring up at him with that odd combination of flat fear and anticipation that rookies get in situations like these. “Well, kid,” said Weisberg, looking at the closest one. “What do we call this situation?” “Ah … well, this would be your barricaded EDP, sir?” “No, kid. This would not be your barricaded EDP. This would be your basic shitstorm. Get up in there and see if somebody has called the ESU guys yet. Let Keogh
this out.” Zeke stopped the litany. “Yeah? Prove that.” “I can’t. I mean, not right away. I can tell you the places I went. Somebody will remember.” Butch laughed shortly. “So what? Maybe you killed Myra earlier. Then you go out to make up your alibi. Anyway, let’s cut the shit, eh, Frank? We found the suit.” “Butch,” said Zeke, turning on him. “Shut up.” “The suit?” “Oh, come off it, Frank. Whaddya think we are? The fucking plastic suit you wore to keep the blood off you.” “Butch, you’re