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Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Catherine Maiorisi
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Bella Books
Synopsis
Still battling each other and the blue wall, NYPD Detectives Chiara Corelli and P.J. Parker catch a new murder case. The victim, a gay man, is posed with a rosary in his hands, the smell of incense in the air and Gregorian chants playing in the background.
While Corelli and Parker search for leads, Kate Burke, the lesbian Speaker of the City Council asks for an update on the investigation. Thinking Burke is playing politics, Corelli ignores the request. In the meantime, two more bodies are found, both laid out in the same way.
Pressured by the chief, Corelli goes to Kate’s office where a photograph of the speaker with a group of friends catches her eye. Corelli recognizes the three victims and, to her horror, three others. Suddenly the case becomes personal.
Fearing a serial killer is picking off the people in the photograph, fearing the next victim will be someone she loves, Corelli races to find the murderer before he kills again.
Copyright © 2019 by Catherine Maiorisi
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2019
eBook released 2019
Editor: Ann Roberts
Cover Designer: Judith Fellows
ISBN: 978-1-64247-026-0
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by Catherine Maiorisi
Matters of the Heart
No One But You
Chiara Corelli Mystery Series
A Matter of Blood
Acknowledgments
The Blood Runs Cold, the second in my NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli mystery series, owes a lot to the people who made the first, A Matter of Blood, possible. But I won’t bore you by repeating what I said about them.
As always, I’m grateful to my wife Sherry for her continued support and for accepting that I spend a lot of time in my head with strange characters. I particularly appreciate that she protects my writing time, even when it means less time together.
And to friends Lee Crespi and Judy Levitz who read early versions of this manuscript and provided invaluable feedback, I appreciate your willingness to read the same book multiple times.
A shoutout to my sister-in-law Barbara Felsinger for going above and beyond the requirements of sister-in-law-hood by sending copies of A Matter of Blood to many of her friends and then sharing their feedback with me. Hopefully, they’ll buy their own copies of The Blood Runs Cold.
Thanks to Rachel Gold, Bella Books author of award-winning novels about transgender girls, for taking time to review my treatment of a transgender character. Hopefully, I got her right. I haven’t read all of Rachel’s books but I highly recommend Being Emily and Just Girls.
For answering my multitude of questions about police procedure, many thanks to Joseph L. Giacalone, a retired NYPD Sergeant and internationally recognized expert with an extensive background in criminal investigations. A professor in the Law, Police Science and Criminal Justice Administration Department of John Jay College of Criminal Justice, Joe is the author of The Criminal Investigative Function: A Guide for New Investigators.
And since I have so many questions about the New York police department, I also need to thank NYPD Lieutenant Bernard Whalen, co-author of The NYPD’s First Fifty Years: Politicians, Police Commissioners and Patrolmen, for his willingness to help.
I also want to offer thanks to the bloggers and reviewers who support crime writers and their books. I know you do it because you love books and authors (most of the time). But I love you for doing it.
Once again, I was lucky to have Ann Roberts, an accomplished romance and mystery author, assigned as my editor. Although I’d read the manuscript of The Blood Runs Cold countless times, Ann found a number of incongruities (I call them gotcha items) and skillfully guided me to a stronger book. Thanks, my friend.
As always a huge thank you to Linda Hill for publishing The Blood Runs Cold. Linda, Jessica, and the other dedicated women behind the scenes at Bella Books do the hard work required to publish a book. I appreciate all you do, your good humor, and especially the patience you show when answering this anxious writer’s questions.
And to my readers: The Blood Runs Cold, like A Matter of Blood, is set in New York City because it is my city and I love it. It also features NYPD detectives and, therefore, the New York City Police Department. Although I’ve spoken to many NYPD officers and detectives and asked many procedural questions, the police department portrayed is my fictional NYPD and any resemblance to the real NYPD is purely coincidental.
I love hearing from readers so please contact me through www.catherinemaiorisi.com. I hope you enjoy The Blood Runs Cold. And if you do, I encourage you to
recommend it to friends, post about it on social media, and review it if you can. I’m truly grateful for your support.
About the Author
Catherine Maiorisi lives in New York City and often writes under the watchful eye of Edgar Allan Poe, in Edgar’s Café near the apartment she shares with her wife Sherry.
While working in corporate technology then running her own technology consulting company, Catherine felt she was the only lesbian in New York City who wasn’t creative, the only one without the imagination or the talent to write poetry or novels, play the guitar, act, or sing.
Years later, Catherine challenged herself to write a mystery but realized she didn’t have the foggiest idea how to write a novel. So she spent the next nine months reading every book she could find about writing and tried again. When she sat down to write, Catherine’s imagination came alive and four months later she had a draft of a detective/mystery novel.
Since then Catherine has published two NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli Mysteries, The Blood Runs Cold and A Matter of Blood. She has also published three mystery short stories in the Murder New York Style anthologies—“Justice for All” in Fresh Slices, “Murder Italian Style” in Family Matters, and “Love, Secrets, and Lies” in Where Crime Never Sleeps.
Catherine has also published two full-length romances — Matters of the Heart and No One But You. Her romance short stories include a standalone ebook, Come as You Want to Be, and “The Fan Club” in The Best Lesbian Romances of 2014, “All’s Well that Ends Well” in Conference Call and “You Will See a Stranger” in Happily Ever After.
Writing is like meditating for Catherine and it is what she most loves to do. But she also reads voraciously, loves to cook, especially Italian, and enjoys hanging out with her wife and friends.
Catherine is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, Rainbow Romance Writers, the Authors Guild, and the Guppies, an online chapter of Sisters in Crime.
Dedication
For my late parents, Helen and George Maiorisi: Although you never went beyond the eighth grade, you instilled a love of reading in me.
Although girls weren’t supposed to be educated, you made sure I went to college.
Thank you.
Chapter One
Wednesday – 7 a.m.
Being ostracized was getting old fast. At least for NYPD Detective Chiara Corelli. And maybe for the press, since they hadn’t shown up this morning. But from her vantage point in a car a block away from the station house, it was clear her colleagues were still in the game.
She hadn’t missed this while Parker was away. And she wouldn’t miss being tied to her desk now that Parker was back. “I’ve been going in alone for the last two weeks, Parker. No need to subject yourself to the gauntlet. You can follow later when it’s safer.”
“Damn you, Corelli, stop playing the martyr.” Detective P.J. Parker made no attempt to hide her anger. “Watkins told me the captain escorted you in while I was away so there was no gauntlet. But I’m back and so is the gauntlet. And just because they haven’t attempted to kill you up to now, doesn’t mean they won’t try today. So don’t even think about going into that crowd or anywhere else without me.”
“Kissin’ my ass won’t change my decision, Parker.”
“Treating me like the enemy won’t change mine. Besides, I’m anxious to get inside where I assume you’ll let me in on your decision about my future.”
Good. Parker isn’t taking my shit. That thought caught Corelli by surprise. She couldn’t remember ever treating anyone the way she’d treated Parker on the Winter case. Nasty wasn’t her style, yet the words slipped out before she could stop them. Parker thought she had PTSD. Could she be right?
Parker got out of the car then leaned in before closing the door. “Better hurry, your fan club is getting restless.”
As they approached, the crowd shuffled into two rows of uniforms back to back forming a gauntlet through which they had to pass to get to the station house. These were her colleagues. She used to trust them to watch her back. Now she had to trust Parker to protect her from them. And, this daily ritual of humiliation had replaced their respect. She hated it, but she’d known the consequences of going undercover to expose the ring of dirty cops. Each time she approached the mouth of the funnel, she remembered the video she’d seen of a snake swallowing a cow—whole. And each time she reminded herself that unlike the cow, she came out the other end a little battered but alive. She’d faced worse things in her life. And survived.
She popped two Maalox tablets, then elbowed Parker. “Here we go.”
Parker rubbed her ribs. “Jeez, Corelli, I don’t need black and blues from you.”
“Oops, did I wrinkle your silk shirt?”
“Crazy bitch,” Parker muttered.
“Could you speak up? I didn’t hear that,” Corelli yelled.
Shaking her head, Parker linked arms with Corelli and they plunged into the belly of the beast, elbowing the line to make space to walk side by side. With the temperature and the humidity both already in the nineties, the stench of sweating bodies, cloying colognes, scented soap, and stale booze was oppressive. And sickening. Although it would serve them right if she vomited all over them, she put a handkerchief over her nose. She stumbled over a leg. Parker steadied her. Corelli kicked the offender. Elbows smacked her arm, her stomach, her back. Only her quick reflexes protected her face and her eyes. She punched to the right, felt Parker punching to the left. Sweat stung her eyes and lips. She gasped for air as the two lines pressed closer, intensifying the heat. Trailed by hissing and muttered insults—bitch, whore, traitor—they fought their way through the roiling mass of humanity.
She strained to see how far they had left to go but could only see the shoulders and heads of the uniforms sucking her forward, like that cow. Just when she thought she might pass out from the heat and the stink, they were at the door to the stationhouse. A uniform blocked it.
Corelli pushed him aside. “Move your fat ass, Donnelly.”
“Bitch,” he said. He raised his hand.
Before she could respond, Parker was nose to nose with him, her hands fisted at her sides. “Don’t even think about it.”
He dropped his hand. “Black bitch,” he muttered and stepped away.
Corelli turned to go after him but Parker clasped her arm, and spoke softly. “I can fight my own battles.”
Corelli nodded. Parker probably faced down the racism of cops and the rest of the world every day. She didn’t need Corelli’s protection. But maybe they needed to have a conversation about racism. Corelli continued forward. During most of her first month back on the job her colleagues had performed a coordinated ballet of standing, showing backs and hissing each time she passed them, but the action disrupted their work and the captain had prohibited it. Now they were confronted by a hostile silence and averted eyes as they made their way up the stairs to the squad and their desks.
The room was empty. Corelli threw her jacket on her desk, stood in front of the ancient air conditioner and raised her arms, trying to cool down and dry her silk blouse. After a minute she went to the water cooler, drank a cup, refilled it and drank that. She tossed the cup, dropped into the chair behind her desk, and rubbed her leg. “Damn gauntlet. Is it my imagination or are they getting rougher? My body is one big black and blue. They getting you too, Parker?”
Looking sweaty but still trim and neat in her navy suit and light blue silk shirt, Detective P.J. Parker ignored the question.
Corelli wiped her face with a handkerchief. “You know, Parker, my navy suit and lavender blouse look nice with what you’re wearing. Maybe we should coordinate what we wear every day.”
As if she hadn’t heard, Parker walked to the cooler, downed a cup of water, and strode back. Placing her hands on the desk, she leaned in so she was eye-to-eye with Corelli. “No doubt about it. Either you’re nuts or you have a serious case of PTSD.” She straightened, breaking the contact, and t
ook a deep breath. “If talking about coordinating our outfits means I’m staying, you could have told me in the car and made it easier.”
“This might come as a shock, Parker, but making life easier for you isn’t in my job description.”
“So am I still working with you?”
The night they wrapped the Winter case, just over two weeks ago, Parker’s father, US Senator Aloysius T. Parker, appeared on TV and used case information that was not public to accuse Corelli of being a dirty cop and a racist. When Parker called to deny being the source of the leak, Corelli was in a rage.
“Does this mean you don’t want to work with me?” Parker asked.
“I don’t know what it means,” Corelli said and ended the call. After she cooled down and was thinking clearly, Corelli could see no reason for Parker to turn on her. Parker wanted homicide and she knew without Corelli she’d lose the opportunity. Besides, she had begun to trust Parker and believed her.
Then Parker hadn’t picked her up the next morning and it wasn’t until she’d fought her way through the gauntlet that she found out Parker had started a two-week detective training program that morning. She’d felt betrayed by Parker, but it turned out that Parker, along with Corelli and the captain, had been blindsided by whoever scheduled the training.
But she hadn’t shared any of this with Parker in the car this morning. She tried not to think about why she enjoyed torturing Parker but she couldn’t resist. “You sure you didn’t give Senator Daddy any information?”
“That’s. What. I. Said.” Parker’s words were clipped, as if she was trying to stay in control. “I distinctly remember telling you that I haven’t talked to the senator in five years.”
“And are you sure you didn’t know in advance about the training?”
Parker rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? I didn’t know until late the night before. I tried to call you but you were ignoring my calls after the senator’s attack. I wasn’t too worried because you’re my superior and I assumed you knew and forgot to tell me. No, actually I assumed you purposefully didn’t tell me just to keep me off balance.”
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