Don't Look Twice by Andrew Gross Read Free Book Online Page A

and they immediately finger it for us…Must be something else you’re holding, Ty.”
    Hauck glanced at Munoz, who took out the newspaper article, still in the evidence bag. “We found this in the getaway vehicle. Which was dumped about a mile away.”
    The Bridgeport detective read the bold headline through the plastic.
    â€œThe manager of the Exxon station where this occurred was Sunil Gupta, whose son was one of the kids involved. The girl had a brother, Artie, who’s reputed to be in a gang. The shooter yelled out the victim’s name as they drove away.”
    â€œSo you’re thinking it was revenge?”
    â€œI happened to have been there, Art. My daughter was with me. When it occurred. I guess I don’t know what I’m thinking, other than we’re lucky to be alive.”
    Art Ewell shook his head with a disgusted air. “Yeah, I understand.” He pushed his large frame out of the chair, reached into his desk drawer, and took out his gun. “C’mon, let’s find that kid,” he said. “Just remember, keep your eyes open, Dorothy…You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    T he place known as the Tombs was actually the Harry Larson housing project on Pembroke in Bridgeport’s East End, two tall gray towers built in the sixties amid a neighborhood of run-down single-family homes.
    Just stepping into the decrepit, paint-chipped lobby, the smell of disinfectant and island cooking, the sense that he was stepping into hostile territory, took Hauck back to when he used to work for the NYPD or to Gangland documentaries on TV. He felt safer since Artie had brought along two uniformed patrolmen.
    They took the jerky, urine-smelling elevator up to Anna Maria Ruiz’s apartment on the fourth floor. Outside, Ewell motioned to them to check their weapons. He rapped his knuckles against the door.
    â€œMrs. Ruiz? Please open up. It’s Detective Ewell of the Bridgeport police.”
    There was no reply.
    Ewell knocked again, louder. “ Mrs. Ruiz… ? This is the Bridgeport police.”
    Finally a woman’s voice came back. “One meenit, please…”
    A lock opened and the door came ajar slightly. Through thechain, a face peeked out. It was Ruiz’s older daughter. Rosa. The one in nursing school, Hauck recalled.
    â€œDo you remember me?” Ewell said. “I’m Sergeant Ewell. We’re looking for Victor, Rosa.”
    She shook her head. “ Veector’s not around.”
    â€œYou mind if we come in? Is your mother at home? It will only take a second.”
    â€œMamá, es la policía,” Hauck heard the daughter say. She opened the door.
    It was a small two-bedroom apartment with chipped plaster walls and a large crucifix on the wall over the small wooden table in the dining area. It was clean and well kept, with a wear-worn patterned couch and plants in the corner near an outmoded console TV. Hauck noticed an arrangement of photos on the wall. A young boy in his confirmation suit who he took to be Victor. On a console was a larger, framed photograph: a pretty, dark-haired girl in a pink gown at what looked like her middle school graduation.
    The TV was turned to the local news channel.
    Anna Maria Ruiz was a tiny, small-boned woman with fearful dark eyes. She spoke Spanish, punctuated with a little broken English. She explained she was only home because she had been recently laid off and was about to head to her night job as a housekeeper at the Hyatt in Stamford. Rosa translated.
    â€œMy mom wants you to know that my sister was a good girl. She wasn’t into trouble. She was preparing to go to college. She hoped to be an accountant.”
    â€œTell your mother we’re all very sorry for her loss,” Ewell said, “and for having to be here today…” He introduced Hauck and Munoz. Mrs. Ruiz’s eyes drifted to the stains on Hauck’s blood-speckled