Murder with Pictures

Fiction & Literature, Thrillers, Mystery & Suspense
Cover of the book Murder with Pictures by George Harmon Coxe, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: George Harmon Coxe ISBN: 9780804152341
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group Publication: January 8, 2014
Imprint: Knopf Language: English
Author: George Harmon Coxe
ISBN: 9780804152341
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication: January 8, 2014
Imprint: Knopf
Language: English

FOLEY, THE RED-FACED, uniformed deputy on duty in the hall, peeked through one of the glass ovals inset in the leather-covered courtroom doors and said: 
     "Hey, the jury's comin, out!"
     A concentrated and irritable sigh from the group of news-photographers lounging in the hall greeted the announcement. There was an intangible flurry of movement, a casual shifting of stances.
     Brant, of the News, sighed wearily. "Boy, it's about time."
     Tobacco smoke, the residue of a four-hour harvest from an apparently inexhaustible supply of cigarettes, choked the air with a stale stuffy smell and hung suspended in a hazy, pale-blue blanket that shrouded the arched ceiling. Cigarette butts, matches, crumpled paper holders littered the ash-strewn floor. Cameras and bulky black plate-cases were stacked in a row along one wall.
     Foley said: "It won't be long now," and kept his eye glued to the little glass window.
     Brant sighed again.
     Coughlin and Weinstock, who had been matching nickels for the past hour, continued, unimpressed.
     'Til bet he gets it," Kesler said. He looked around as though waiting for a challenge. "Who wants to bet Girard
ain't guilty?"
     "Girard's waiting to hear it," Foley announced. 
     Coughlin said: "That's four bits you're in me. A buckor nothing." Weinstock nodded silently and flipped his coin. Coughlin said: "Nuts!" and fished a crumpled bill from his pocket.
     "It looks like an acquittal," Foley said. "Girard is—"
     He broke off in sudden alarm and jumped aside. In the next instant the swinging doors slapped outward; Purdy, of the Evening Standard, bucked through the opening. Without breaking his stride, Purdy called: "Not Guilty!" and pounded down the marble floor in his race
for a telephone.
     Foley growled: "Hey, you! Quiet!" Then the rest of the reporters swarmed out of the courtroom and he was forgotten.

[from Chapter 1]

View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart

FOLEY, THE RED-FACED, uniformed deputy on duty in the hall, peeked through one of the glass ovals inset in the leather-covered courtroom doors and said: 
     "Hey, the jury's comin, out!"
     A concentrated and irritable sigh from the group of news-photographers lounging in the hall greeted the announcement. There was an intangible flurry of movement, a casual shifting of stances.
     Brant, of the News, sighed wearily. "Boy, it's about time."
     Tobacco smoke, the residue of a four-hour harvest from an apparently inexhaustible supply of cigarettes, choked the air with a stale stuffy smell and hung suspended in a hazy, pale-blue blanket that shrouded the arched ceiling. Cigarette butts, matches, crumpled paper holders littered the ash-strewn floor. Cameras and bulky black plate-cases were stacked in a row along one wall.
     Foley said: "It won't be long now," and kept his eye glued to the little glass window.
     Brant sighed again.
     Coughlin and Weinstock, who had been matching nickels for the past hour, continued, unimpressed.
     'Til bet he gets it," Kesler said. He looked around as though waiting for a challenge. "Who wants to bet Girard
ain't guilty?"
     "Girard's waiting to hear it," Foley announced. 
     Coughlin said: "That's four bits you're in me. A buckor nothing." Weinstock nodded silently and flipped his coin. Coughlin said: "Nuts!" and fished a crumpled bill from his pocket.
     "It looks like an acquittal," Foley said. "Girard is—"
     He broke off in sudden alarm and jumped aside. In the next instant the swinging doors slapped outward; Purdy, of the Evening Standard, bucked through the opening. Without breaking his stride, Purdy called: "Not Guilty!" and pounded down the marble floor in his race
for a telephone.
     Foley growled: "Hey, you! Quiet!" Then the rest of the reporters swarmed out of the courtroom and he was forgotten.

[from Chapter 1]

More books from Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group

Cover of the book Blood, Tin, Straw by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Crooked Little Heart by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Vendetta by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Family History of Fear by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book The Well-Fed Backpacker by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Native Tongue by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Benediction by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Invisible Americans by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Dreams in a Time of War by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Shuttlecock by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Cities of the Plain by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book The Wakefield Mystery Plays by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Subterranean by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book The Life of Kingsley Amis by George Harmon Coxe
Cover of the book Power to Save the World by George Harmon Coxe
We use our own "cookies" and third party cookies to improve services and to see statistical information. By using this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy