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The
Devil Strikes Again
The storm
was still over Houston when Anson and Herman were called to investigate
the Norris Building murders. The young girl murdered in Victor Barlowe's
office put a severe strain on Anson's carefully developed outlook toward
proper police procedure. He prided himself that his success was due, in
part, to the fact that he didn't let the blood overwhelm him. But now,
anger made him feel a need for revenge. Maybe it was inevitable that one
of the countless death masks he had seen would finally speak to him. The
expression on Elizabeth Barkley's face seemed to cry out for vengeance.
After they
had finished talking to people who had been in their offices on the
second floor at noon, Anson and Herman went back to Victor Barlowe's
office.
"Everyone
heard the scream; no one heard the shot," Anson said. "So he
used a silencer."
"Looks
like one of our cases."
"Yes.
And whoever shot Barlowe stepped on the girl like a bug."
One of the
men from Forensics came out of the inner office.
"You
people finished in there?" Anson asked.
"Just
about."
Anson turned
to Herman, "We need a complete rundown on the girl and Barlowe. Use
anybody you need. It's three o'clock now, so get everything you can by
tonight....I want to see George."
"Right."
When Anson
went into the inner office, he found George Webster kneeling on the
floor close to Elizabeth Barkley's head. He looked agonizingly down at
her pale face, and, for a moment, thought he could still detect a faint
scent of perfume lingering in the smell of blood and death. George
looked up. He knew Anson was suffering. He had seen it happen to other
police officers.
"Careful,
Anson," he said.
Anson nodded
his head.
"I
know...you have anything for me?"
"No...but
she was dead before she hit the floor."
"A
blessing, I guess," Anson said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"You through?"
"Yes."
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