Takeover
Let Justice Descend
LISA BLACK
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
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Table of Contents
Praise Also by Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Epigraph Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Acknowledgments About the Author Read More
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Copyright © 2019 by Lisa Black
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ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2236-2
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2236-1
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2019
First Kensington Mass Market Printing: July 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2237-9 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2237-X (ebook)
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Printed in the United States of America
To those I have aspired to emulate:
Ellery Queen, P.D. James, and Alastair MacLean
Let justice descend, you heavens, like dew from above,
like gentle rain let the clouds drop it down.
Isaiah 45:8
Chapter 1
Sunday, November 4
58 hours until polls close
“Well. That’s not something you see every day,” Maggie said.
The woman’s body stretched along the walkway to her door, her feet, still in stylish heels, on the concrete slab and her back along the flagstones. Dead eyes stared up at the gray November sky, and a few colored leaves had fallen onto the neatly buttoned but damp suit coat. A briefcase and an overstuffed tote bag had fallen from her left hand, and her right clutched a knot of keys. No blood dried in the crisp air, no struggle had mussed her perfectly curled hair, nothing about her gave the slightest clue to her demise—save for the black streak on her right hand.
“First time I’ve ever seen something like this,” Riley agreed, gazing not at the woman but at her front door.
Jack, as usual, said nothing.
Maggie Gardiner had already taken her “overall” photos—the yard, the exterior wall of the house, the body—and now turned to what had killed the woman. The front door to the woman’s house had a heavy metal screen door with a design of curlicues and latticework, made to fit its surroundings, a brick century home. Its front yard seemed more like a courtyard, ringed by an eight-foot-high brick wall with a matching gate that led to the street, where the victim had parked her car. No driveway, no garage, but only one street from the lake and surrounded by other old-money