Chapter Eleven
Homicide Detective Harris James Kendall, Jr., stood near the dead body of Carl Gregson. He shifted across the blood stained clothes. Ever since the Prohibition Era days of the nineteen twenties, and nineteen thirties when Al Capone took over Chicago with an iron fist, Detective Kendall, Jr., knew what Attorney-General Robert Kennedy was doing. He was 'fitting up' mobsters, as J. Edgar Hoover was in charge of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. After the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963 during the bitter Cold War problems, American citizens didn't have faith in the US Government; faith that stemmed from an idea that the President in The White House was immune from the enemy within. 345Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNshp9LxWnC
He looked at the dead body, and sighed with open anger.
'Carl Gregson. He had a file that was small. A no good gangster', he said to Doctor Patricia Klein, the Michigan Coroner. She nodded. 'The stomach area was cut with a large butcher knife. It was swift, and deadly. The killer knew what he was doing; he wasn't an amateur'.
'And'.
'And, four people in the city are dead. There's a serial killer on the loose, Detective. We're not immune to death', Doctor Klein said. She had long, red hair, hazel eyes, and petite. She wore a long, white coat, flares, black socks, and shoes on her small feet. On her right, middle finger was a diamond wedding ring; on her left, middle finger was a Swiss watch that she brought in Zurich, Switzerland, in nineteen sixty-six, while she and her new husband, Roman Klein, a watch maker and dealer. She watched other Michigan Police Officers with the new members of the city's forensics team unit, took photographs of the dead body, as Detective Kendall, Jr., called his wife on the telephone, and told her that her husband was dead.
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