Cold Vengeance by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online

metal points, hung from one arm. Her hair was dyed a severe black and he could see a tattoo on her upper arm peeking out from beneath her shirt, which he recognized as an M. C. Escher design.
    A Goth.
    “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked. Where was the damn secretary to screen these people?
    “Do I look like a ma’am to you?” came the reply.
    D’Agosta sighed. “What can I do for you?”
    “You’re Vincent D’Agosta, right?”
    He nodded.
    She stepped into the office. “He mentioned you a few times. I’m usually bad with names, but I remembered that one because it was so Italian.”
    “So Italian,” D’Agosta repeated.
    “I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that where I come from, in Kansas, nobody has a name like that.”
    “The Italians never made it that far inland,” D’Agosta replied dryly. “Now, who’s this ‘he’ you mentioned?”
    “Agent Pendergast.”
    “Pendergast?” D’Agosta couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
    “Yup. I was his assistant out in Medicine Creek, Kansas. The ‘Still Life’ serial murders?”
    D’Agosta stared. Pendergast’s assistant? The girl was delusional.
    “He must have mentioned me. I’m Corrie Swanson.”
    D’Agosta frowned. “I’m vaguely familiar with the Still Life killings, but I don’t recall him mentioning your name.”
    “He never talks about his cases. I drove him around, helped him scope out the town. With that black suit and all he stuck out like a sore thumb—he needed an insider like me.”
    D’Agosta was surprised to hear this but realized she was probably telling the truth—if exaggerated. Assistant? He found his irritation give way to a darker emotion. “Come in,” he said belatedly. “Have a seat.”
    She sat down, metal jingling, and swept back her raven hair, revealing a streak of purple and another of yellow. D’Agosta leaned back in his chair, carefully disguising his reaction. “So. What’s up?”
    “I’m in New York for the year. Got here in September. I’m a sophomore, and I’ve just transferred to the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.”
    “Go on,” D’Agosta said. The John Jay part impressed him. She was no idiot, although she was doing her damnedest to look like one.
    “I’m taking a class called Case Studies in Deviance and Social Control.”
    “Deviance and Social Control,” D’Agosta repeated. Sounded like a course Laura might have taken—she’d been big on sociology.
    “As part of this, we’re supposed to do a case study ourselves and write a paper. I chose the Still Life killings.”
    “I’m not sure Pendergast would approve,” D’Agosta said carefully.
    “But he did approve. That’s the problem. Back when I first arrived, I set up a lunch with him. It was supposed to be for yesterday. He never showed. Then I went to his apartment at the Dakota—nothing, all I got was the runaround from a doorman. He’s got my cell number, but he never called me to cancel or anything. It’s like the guy vanished into thin air.”
    “That seems odd. Perhaps you got the appointment wrong?”
    She fished in her little bag, pulled out an envelope, and handed it over.
    D’Agosta extracted a letter from the envelope and began to read.
The Dakota
1 West 72nd Street
New York, NY 10023
5 September
Ms. Corrie Swanson
844 Amsterdam Avenue, Apt. 30B
New York, NY 10025
My dear Corrie,
I’m pleased to hear that your studies are going well. I approve of your choice of courses. I believe you will find the Introduction to Forensic Chemistry to be most interesting. I’ve given some thought to your project and agree to take part, provided I may vet the final product and that you agree not to reveal certain minor details in your paper.
By all means let’s get together for lunch. I will be out of the country later this month, but I should be back by mid-October. October 19 agrees with my calendar. Allow me to suggest Le Bernardin on West 51st Street at 1 PM . The reservation will be in my