Mirror Image by Dennis Palumbo Read Free Book Online Page B

friendly face in the room will make you more cooperative.”
    “I sure as hell hate the sound of that.”
    She shrugged. “First off, I’m really sorry about your patient. I mean, for you . Finding him that way…”
    “Thanks. But I’m okay.”
    “Bullshit, but we’ll let that pass.” A brief smile. “Anyway, the thing is, this murder has heated up all of a sudden. We’re in total siege mode.”
    “What the hell for?”
    I was confused. Sure, cops always want to clear murders fast. Mostly for pragmatic reasons. The trail turns cold after the first 72 hours. Plus, high clearance rates make department heads happy, which is always good news for homicide cops. Usually the only kind they ever get.
    “Listen, Angie. I don’t know how much they told you, but the detectives on this case figure the killer was after me , and got Kevin Merrick by mistake.”
    She waved a hand impatiently. “Christ, that’s old news. Homicide’s working a whole new scenario now.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since we found out the victim’s name isn’t Kevin Merrick.”

Chapter Twelve
     
    District Attorney Leland Sinclair pointed to a chair across from his at the conference table.
    “Take a seat, Dr. Rinaldi. This thing’s rolling downhill, and we don’t have much time to get you up to speed.”
    Unlike most public figures, the DA looked the same in person as he did on the evening news—like a senior tennis pro. Well-connected and ambitious, everyone knew he wanted to be governor one day. And probably would be.
    Sinclair turned and introduced me to Lt. Stu Biegler, from Robbery/Homicide. He was probably in his forties, but looked ten years younger. Pale. Male-model thin. His glance at me was narrow-eyed and suspicious.
    Polk stepped in behind Angie and me, nodded once to Biegler, his boss, and moved down along the large oval table to where his partner Eleanor Lowrey sat making notes.
    We were in the main conference room, sequestered from the maze of cubicles and offices beyond its paneled walls by reinforced double-doors. The mood had seemed pretty tense from the moment I came in, and was ratcheting up fast as we all awkwardly found seats. The pockmarked table was littered with papers, folders, and Styrofoam cups.
    Then, before anyone could say a word, the door opened again behind us. The latecomer was tall, blond, wearing a silk blouse and a short, tight-fitting skirt, and was easily one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.
    She had a dancer’s body, with firm breasts and long, very smooth legs. I must have gaped, because I could sense Angie’s gaze on me. Felt the chill of her disapproval.
    “Sorry I’m late,” the woman said to Sinclair, pushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
    Sinclair and I got back to our feet. Nobody else did.
    “No problem. We’re just getting started.” He turned to me. “Dr. Daniel Rinaldi, this is Casey Walters, one of our rising Assistant District Attorneys.”
    “Right. Until the next time I fuck up,” she said cheerfully.
    I felt her frank appraisal like a searchlight on my face, so I distracted myself by returning the favor. I liked what I saw. High cheekbones. Pale pink lipstick on full lips. The hand that reached to shake mine was strong, sure, with long fingers and short, frosted nails.
    Then her glance went to Polk and Lowrey.
    “By the way,” she said, “I’m late because of the Paula Stark case. Thanks to you two, I just got beat up by her public defender, which does great things for my image.”
    Polk glared at her. “Are you shittin’ me? We got enough to put Paula upstate for a deuce, easy. What about the phone calls to her brother, and the witness?”
    “Oh, yeah. The homeboy who swears he saw Paula club the grocer with a wrench from her purse. Before she empties the cash register and escapes to the South Side on the bus. Guys, I can’t make a meal out of that.”
    “It’s what happened,” Polk said testily.
    “Get me the wrench. Get me the damn bus driver.