Silent Are the Dead (The Flash Casey Mysteries)

Silent Are the Dead (The Flash Casey Mysteries)

George Harmon Coxe

Language: English

Pages: 230

ISBN: 1453236783

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Flash Casey snaps a photo that holds the key to a corrupt lawyer’s murder

Casey shouldn’t have had to go back for more pictures of Stanford Endicott. He was at the court with the other newspaper photographers when the wealthy lawyer was arraigned, and got pictures of him smiling as he put on a hat to hide his bald head. But before Casey can get the negatives developed, a pair of urchins steal his camera case and expose the plates to the sun. At his editor’s orders, Casey visits Endicott’s office for another round of photos. The picture he takes there is altogether more interesting: Stanford Endicott, dead on his office floor.
 
Casey hears a sound in the next room and knows the murderer is close. He gives chase out the front door, and takes a picture just as the killer drives away. Suddenly, Flash Casey has a bigger story than he bargained for.

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a stop. “Let’s go home and celebrate,” he said. “We’ll get a cab.” McCann gave him a sly leer. He shook his finger. “No, you don’t.” Casey grinned in spite of himself. No one was dumber than a foxy drunk. He’d been that way himself, spending hours trying to outsmart himself just as McCann was going to do. “Get smart,” he said, making a last attempt. “You got yours, get out. Go back upstairs and you’ll drop the works.” “Who cares?” McCann said. “I like to see that little ball go round’n’round.”

he’d go to Logan. Logan would steam all over again, but in the end it would be all right so long as the information helped the case. “Okay, Flash.” Logan was rising and moving toward the door. “We’ll pick up Garrison but—well, watch yourself until we do.” When Casey got back to the Express, he found Wade and O’Hearn talking about Austin and he sat down and gave them a brief account of what had happened. Casey ducked most of the questions they asked, pleading ignorance and telling them nothing

golden oak that had mellowed by usage and age into ordinary, nondescript wood. He was at the window staring out when Casey entered without knocking, and the instant the photographer saw the lean, tight face he knew he was in for a session. “I was just going to send for you,” Logan said. “Then I saved the city some dough,” Casey said, his tone as blunt as Logan’s. “What do you want?” Logan stepped past the desk to a door connecting with an adjoining room, and threw it open. “Come in, please.”

two leather chairs to match, a massive and expensive-looking desk in one corner, behind which was a high-backed chair that probably cost as much as the desk. The pile in the over-all, sand-colored rug was long enough to trip over, and almost in the center of it was Stanford Endicott. He was on his back, one arm outflung, his knees straight and ankles crossed, as though he had done it on purpose. Casey didn’t think he had; Casey thought he was dead. Behind him Perry Austin made a quick, sucking

make it,” he said. “But you did. Yes, sir, you did it all by yourself.” He came over and tapped Casey’s knee. “That’s why we’re looking for Harry Nye. What do you think of that?” Casey looked at him. He didn’t answer until he had a cigarette. Then he said, “I think you’re nuts. Nye’s not big enough to be behind a thing like that.” “Bernie Dixon is.” “I’m talking about Nye.” “Two guys saw him, the two clerks and the wholesaler—he’s been contacting the wholesaler for a couple of months in place

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