Rundown by Michael Cadnum Read Free Book Online Page A

shoulder was stiff.
    After a silence she said, “Jennifer, this will haunt you.”
    Detective Margate called just after nine.
    She said that she needed to talk. The sounds of the police station were audible in the background, phones trilling, muted voices. She had left her office door open, maybe to give me the full effect. “As soon as it’s convenient,” she said.
    I said that I would be happy to help.

Chapter 10
    It was an unmarked car, coffee-ice-cream brown, a whiplash antenna above the gas cap.
    Detective Ronert sat in the back seat, busy with a ballpoint pen and a clipboard. He said good morning and asked me how I was doing.
    I told him I was okay, and he looked at me searchingly, as though he hoped this was true. I kept looking back at him, asking him about the paperwork he had to do, even though it gave me a crick in my neck. He explained that detecting crime was all record keeping. “If we draw our weapons we have to account for each shot.”
    â€œWhat happens if there’s a shoot-out?” I asked.
    He said, “We have to draw a yellow circle around every little hole.”
    â€œSeat belt,” said Detective Margate.
    I worked at getting the buckle to fasten, and at last Margate had to reach over and do it for me, smelling faintly of soap.
    She drove about fifteen miles an hour, eyeing a dog-minder across the street, a muscular man walking four dogs at once, the little dust mop planting a turd in the gutter. Our new neighborhood was replete with child-care experts pushing strollers jammed with four toddlers at once, not to mention the corps of tree surgeons and gardeners who started bright and early, nipping and tucking.
    Detective Margate took a great deal of interest in the way the dog-man pulled on an oversize plastic glove and knelt, gathering the poop into a Baggie.
    â€œI guess he likes animals,” I said.
    â€œOr else he really needs a job.” Detective Margate sped up. “It reminds me of what we do,” she said.
    I thought that she meant all of us living creatures, excreting solid waste.
    â€œPolice, I mean,” she said. “Detectives.”
    â€œAsk her about the drag and drop,” said Ronert.
    â€œWe need to find out how far the attacker dragged you,” she said. “And where he let you go.”
    â€œHe didn’t drag me anywhere.”
    â€œNot even a couple of meters?” she asked.
    Meters, I noted, not yards. I told her I didn’t think so.
    â€œThe FBI might still be interested,” said Ronert from the back seat. “If it’s anything like attempted kidnapping.”
    â€œKidnapping,” said Detective Margate, with gently mocking good humor. “Detective Ronert toured the FBI when he was a kid.”
    â€œIt’s only a little farther,” I cautioned her, as the detective whisked through an intersection.
    She pulled over to the curb under a eucalyptus that was tagged with a bright green sticker. The roots had buckled the sidewalk, sections of concrete sticking up like playing cards. Someone had probably stumbled and sued the city. The tree was marked for destruction.
    â€œWhen you were jogging last evening,” the detective began. “Before the attack—” She set the parking brake and eased the gears into neutral. I had done well in driver’s education, but my favorite part of any driving experience was turning off the ignition and getting out of the car. Dad said I’d get a Fiat when I graduated.
    â€œI was running,” I corrected her. I run or I walk; jogging is for people who lack determination.
    â€œWhen you were running you might have seen a car parked, up by the botanical gardens.”
    â€œMaybe,” I said, meaning: maybe not.
    â€œBecause the perp must have driven up the canyon and pulled off the road.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, meaning: I’m listening.
    â€œIt’s all no parking. Unless you saw a car with its hazard lights