The Joe Turner Murder Case

The short ways might be from times where to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the most most violent in the world. This might be with very poor, as detective Danny Clover, briefly the white-frozen sky of February holds, and Broadway cups twilight in its hands in curve of evening edition, in concert as a quick-walking woman, and watches bay melt and flow into eddies of night-balls,

and what was gray is sudden starlets, where chill walls and surfaces in the sad, strained of color, the night flitter dances now. Silberie and darted through with piercings of slivered light. And on first time, the night ball shocked, gathers, waits for the revelers.

And they drift to it and run, oil in the dance of wind. Night waits and shock opens its arms. And on a side street, this side street breets, screaming ride from headquarters. Side streets filling in the Hudson River dock.

In it, this man hurled against its stone, man stabbed, man dead. and another man holding flashlight to the dead face, then switching it off, rubbing it against his cheek. Recognizing Danny? Yeah, that's... Yeah, that's who Joe Turner, rookie policeman, not three months out of the academy.

He made the brass scroll in a hurry. It's an honor what's happened to him. You knew him, one of them? Little bit. A couple weeks ago, the boy came to me, said he didn't want to take up too much of my time.

He sure respected us, fellas, and homicide. Hope it wouldn't be too long before he could make it himself. I hope he's going to try his darnest to be as fine as you fellas. Meaning us, Danny.