Sensei by John Donohue Read Free Book Online Page B

Pokes about in his office. Then he goes over to the gallery. He takes one good look and that about does it."
    "You mean he said I did it?" I asked skeptically.
    "Well," Art continued, "first he had to stop barfing. Then he got cleaned up and started talking. And ..."
    "Presto," Micky concluded, "your name pops up."
    I looked from one to the other and couldn't think of a thing to say.
    "Here's where we are, Connor," Art went on. "You doing a job for Bobby Kay. Reilly in the mix. The two of you have some sort of confrontation. Some sort of mysterious martial arts stuff. Mitch tells Bobby about it. Day or so later, Mitch turns up dead. So..."
    "So," Micky picked up the thread, "we got Bobby Kay babbling about some karate-grudge death match. I personally think it's a crock, but..."
    "Motive." Art held up his hand, index finger pointing up like a DA making a telling point to a jury. "Then we got all this 'death touch' hype. You should read the Post's version." Micky was digging around back there looking for it but gave up after a few seconds.
    "So now, Mr. Martial Arts Expert," Art said, holding up finger number two, "we got the means."
    '"You do anything last night, Connor? Out with friends? A date?"
    "No." I got a sinking feeling as Micky ran down the list of possibilities, trying to see whether I had an alibi. "I stayed in grading papers."
    "Phone calls?" I shook my head.
    "And," Art said with a flourish, raising finger three, "opportunity."
    We came to a halt in front of Samurai House. There was a police cruiser on the scene and a cop by the door.
    "Hey, come on. "You guys can't be serious," I protested.
    Art let out a long, fuming sigh. He put a cardboard sign with an NYPD sticker on the dash and shut the car down.
    "Nah," Micky said. "We'll have to run it down in terms of an alibi..."
    "And you'll have to make a statement... prints, that sort of thing," Art added.
    "But what we really want is some advice on this one," Micky said as he climbed out of the backseat.
    The three of us stood for a minute, looking at the front of Samurai House, the chrome and granite looking no worse for wear and the business of the city flowing past it as if nothing had happened there. But the cops were coming and going. Thirty minutes ago, I'd been running by the shore. Now I was in a very different world. Forensic guys in white coats were taking out little paper bags with stuff in them. Radios gabbled. My T-shirt had dried and my legs had that good, used feel they get from exertion. Though I stood there in my hi-tech sneakers, feeling fit, it didn't do much for my confidence.
    Micky tapped me lightly on the shoulder and took me by the arm. "Don't worry," he said quietly in a voice I recognized as my brother's. "It'll be OK."
    "Besides," Art concluded, "we're afraid if we tried to take you in, you'd kill us with your freakin' ninja death touch."
    "Be afraid, Art. Be very afraid." I used my most menacing voice, but it was an effort.
    Art appeared unimpressed. "Come on," he said as we walked toward the door, "you ever been on a crime scene, Connor?"
    "No." I watched Micky dawdle on the pavement, fingering his pack of cigarettes and wondering whether he could get in a quick smoke.
    "One cardinal rule," Art continued. "OK." I looked over at him. "Don't touch anything."
    We went in past the uniformed cop, whose eyes briefly refocused as we approached, but glazed over once the boys flashed their shields. The waterfall bur bled with a relentless lack of consideration for the solemnity of crime. The plastic yellow crime scene tape was strung across the scenic little entrance Bobby Kay had showed me with such pride the other day. Inside the gallery, the room was empty. I let out some air, realizing that I had been holding my breath in anticipation of having to see the body.
    But it was long gone. There was the taped outline of Reilly's last earthly location on the floor, but that was about it. The room was an empty one to begin with, so there wasn't much