Snow Blind by P.J. Tracy Read Free Book Online

ride…. Just hang on a minute.”
    Roadrunner knew that “a minute” in Harley’s lexicon could end up being an hour, so he started surfing the Web sites of the local news channels, looking for weather reports. What he found instead were streaming video footage and photos from Theodore Wirth Park, and damned if he didn’t catch a glimpse of Magozzi and Gino standing in the background of one of the stills.
    â€œHarley. We’ve gotta turn on the TV.”

    A CROSS THE Mississippi in a different world, Magozzi pulled the unmarked into a broad driveway carved between two fresh snowbanks and shut it down. He and Gino looked at Tommy Deaton’s house through the windshield, one of the prewar brick two-stories that peppered the backstreets of Minneapolis, especially near the lakes. Neither one of them made a move to get out of the car.
    â€œTen years ago this neighborhood was right in the toilet,” Gino said.
    â€œI remember. Wonder what these houses go for now?”
    â€œThis close to the lake? Quarter of a mil, at least, and all thanks to the MPD. Bump up the patrols, pull the dirtballs off the street, pretty soon you have cops living in the neighborhood and property values skyrocket. You ask me, the department oughta get a percentage. Isn’t that Polish butcher shop around here somewhere?”
    â€œKramarczuk’s? Not even close.”
    â€œKramarczuk’s could be a thousand miles away, and it’s still close enough. Man, you don’t get sausage like that anywhere else in the country. I bring home a package from that place, and as far as Angela’s concerned, I can do no wrong for about a week. We gotta make a run over there one of these days.”
    Magozzi released his seat belt, but didn’t make any move to get out of the car. “I can’t believe we’re sitting out here freezing our tails off talking about some goddamn stupid sausage.”
    Gino sighed. “We do this every time we have to make a notification. Last time we spent five minutes in the driveway talking about lawn fertilizer runoff.”
    â€œWe did?”
    â€œAnything to keep from going in there. You notice the driveway? Somebody did a real nice job with the blower on this one.”
    Magozzi nodded and finally lifted the door handle. “Maybe a service. Or maybe Mrs. Deaton. We should ask about that.”
    â€œYeah, and isn’t that a nice touch? ‘Gee, Mrs. Deaton, I’m sorry to tell you your husband is dead, but on a lighter note, who cleared your driveway?’ Christ. It’s a damn miracle these people don’t pull out a gun and shoot us.”
    It took a long time for Tommy Deaton’s wife to answer the front door, and the moment he saw her, Magozzi understood why. She was a tiny thing with bruised and blackened eyes, a swollen face, and a big white bandage over her nose. She examined their badges very carefully before letting them inside, and then their expressions as they tried not to stare at her ruined face. She was a cop’s wife, and knew what they were thinking. “New nose,” she explained with a quick, embarrassed smile. “Thirtieth-birthday present from my husband.”
    Magozzi’s thoughts went off on a sidetrack, wondering what the world was coming to when husbands gave their young wives plastic surgery for their birthday. What the hell kind of statement was that? Happy birthday, honey, and, for Chrissake, go get your face fixed.
    Tommy Deaton’s wife was looking at him with polite uncertainty, probably wondering why they were there. She collapsed on the foyer rug when they told her.
    After she came around, Gino and Magozzi helped her make some phone calls, then had about fifteen minutes to ask all the terrible questions they had to ask, while Mary Deaton sat ramrod straight on the sofa, tears running down her face, but answering everything. She knew the drill.
    The normally smart-mouthed, hard-nosed Gino was