Fever Dream by Dennis Palumbo Read Free Book Online Page B

what little info we have from the scene seems to back up her story.”
    Sinclair took a long breath, then turned to Polk.
    “What do you think, Sergeant?”
    Polk squared his shoulders. “I never disagree with my partner, sir. Bad for the team.”
    “I see.”
    Sinclair looked as though he wanted to say more, but hesitated. What would be the point? Even though he saw the facetious gleam in Polk’s eye, he understood the serious meaning behind it. He knew enough not to try to divide two cops who’d been partnered as long as Polk and Lowrey. Whatever conflicts they’d have in private, they would never express them in public. Or on the record.
    At a loss, Sinclair turned back to Biegler. “Okay, Lieutenant. Where were we? The first gunman enters the bank and takes out the cameras. Then what?”
    “Then he’s joined by a second guy, who enters the same way, through the front door. He’s also masked and carrying a gun. Now this was confirmed by both Treva Williams and George Vickers, the security guard.”
    “Vickers is the only other survivor, right?” Sinclair clasped his hands behind his head, levered back in his chair. “How many victims, total?”
    “You mean, the bank employees? Three.”
    Biegler flipped through some pages in his files. “We haven’t officially ID’d everybody. The M.E. just got the bodies. But we have a list of names from the bank’s home office in Harrisburg. Plus personnel files.”
    Sinclair clucked his tongue impatiently.
    Biegler blinked a couple times and continued. “First dead employee is Tina Unswari. Parents emigrated here from New Dehli before she was born. Twenty-six, unmarried. Lived with her sister in an apartment in Greentree. Graduated from Duquesne University.”
    Tina Unswari. The first victim I’d seen when I entered the bank. The image of her body in death was still with me. I found myself involuntarily closing my eyes, unmindful of the others in the room, as though that would erase the picture. It didn’t.
    “Next we have Phyllis Hopper,” Biegler droned on. “Married, two kids. Senior bank associate. Kinda like the head teller, I guess. Then there’s Robert Marks. Called ‘Bobby,’ according to Treva Williams. He was the assistant bank manager.”
    “So where was the manager ?” Lowrey asked, sitting forward in her chair. “The one in charge?”
    “Home, apparently. Called in sick with a bad cold. Guy named James Franconi. One of my people spoke to him on the phone. Told him to make himself available for questioning later today.”
    Biegler glanced up from his files and targeted Polk. “You make sure somebody talks to that guy tonight, okay? Given that this could be an inside job, it’s pretty damn convenient. I mean, Franconi coming down with a cold the day the bank gets hit.”
    Polk grunted his assent, making a big show of jotting down a note in his little pad.
    Meanwhile, Sinclair motioned to his campaign manager.
    “Get the names and addresses of the victims’ next of kin. I want flowers sent, and I think we should plan some kind of public memorial. For all three of them. I’ll make some remarks.”
    Fletcher nodded gravely. “Good idea.”
    “But I don’t want it to look like we’re exploiting this tragedy for political gain,” Sinclair said.
    “Best way to do that,” I said, “is not to exploit it for political gain.”
    Sinclair gave me an indulgent smile. Nobody else seemed to do much of anything just then. Including breathe.
    “Not that you asked my opinion,” I added.
    Sinclair took a thoughtful pause. “You know, as district attorney, I genuinely believe it’s part of the job to express my condolences, on behalf of the city, to the victims’ families. If you think anything other than that, Dan, it’s you who’s guilty of cynicism.”
    “Nicely done. Makes it hard to believe you’ve been dodging debates with your opponent.”
    Fletcher bristled. “Not true. Lee will debate John Garrity any time, any place. We just have to