Color Blind by Jonathan Santlofer Read Free Book Online Page A

crime scene—a murder scene. Forget it. She rapped her nails against the dashboard.

    “You look like you’re about to explode,” said Brown.

    “I’m fine.”

    “Should I get off at Seventy-ninth to drop you?”

    Kate hesitated, tried to fight the words that were already coming out of her mouth. “Why don’t you just go where you’re going and I’ll grab a cab from there.”

    “No Mercedes today?” There was the slightest sneer on Brown’s lips.

    Kate offered up her own acerbic smile. “I prefer having you as my driver.”

    “Funny,” said Brown, then gave her a knowing look. “You want to see it, don’t you?”

    “No.” Kate sighed. “I simply don’t want to take you out of your way.”

    Brown threw her a sideways grin. “Uh-huh, sure.”

    “You said Thirty-ninth Street, right? It’s just a block away from Richard’s office. It’ll give me an excuse to drop in on him.”

    Brown gave her another dry “Uh-huh.”

     

    T he police-car radio was crackling with codes and descriptions as Brown cut across West Fortieth.
    “You want me to let you out here?” he asked.

    “In the middle of the street?”

    “Just checking,” said Brown, still smirking until he saw the ring of cop cars up ahead and the uniforms keeping passersby from the scene.

    Kate checked her watch. Almost four-thirty. Richard would definitely be back from Boston by now, probably even in his office. She should call him, tell him she was close by, maybe they’d go for a bite or a drink. That made a lot more sense than following Brown to a murder scene. But she didn’t go for her cellular and when Brown said, “Last chance,” she just nodded and he knew what she meant.

    Brown had to park on the sidewalk. A dozen cop cars, an EMT van, and an ambulance were crowding the end of the street near the tall buildings at the corner of the Avenue of the Americas, just a few blocks south of the neon and glass and billboards and noise that made up Times Square. He was out fast, gold shield in hand, pushing through the crowd that had gathered and the ring of uniforms.

    A beefy guy with a red complexion and a sparse blond mustache flagged him over.

    “The vic’s way down at the other end of the alley,” he said.

    “Anyone touch anything?”

    The red-faced detective put his hands up as a sign. “Nope. Did what we were told, Chief Brown. Waited for you. Couple of medics and cops are with the body, that’s all. Just waiting.” He looked over at Kate.

    “She’s with me,” said Brown. “Consults for NYPD.”

    Kate liked the sound of that, tried her best to look official, tucked her fine leather bag under her arm, stood up straight. Am I out of my mind? She took a deep breath, knew the answer to that, but something kept compelling her forward, following Brown.

    Brown peered down the alley, but couldn’t see anything.

    Blond mustache said: “Runs the entire length of the building—right through from Thirty-ninth to Fortieth. The vic, the cops, and the medics are at the end, like I said. According to a guy at the front desk of the Fortieth Street building, the alley used to connect these two buildings—like about thirty years ago.” He signaled a uniform over, plucked the guy’s flashlight off his belt, handed it to Brown. “You’re gonna need this.”

     

    B rown turned into the alley, Kate just behind him. But she hesitated.
    Maybe it was her cop instincts failing her, or her normal human ones kicking in and telling her to forget this folly, or maybe it was something else. She wasn’t sure of anything except the chill that had started in her lower back now working its way up her spine, and the tingling in her arms and legs, and a sharp awareness of her own breathing and her mouth gone dry.

    Brown glanced over his shoulder. “You sure about this, McKinnon?”

    Sure? No, of course not. But she had to follow, had to see the scene.

    Why?

    She had no idea. Just a feeling urging her on.

    Brown was