Suicide Run by Michael Connelly Read Free Book Online Page B

hand and picked up my speed as I got closer. I needed to get out of there.
    I heard Seguin’s voice echoing off the walls behind me.
    “I’ll keep her close, Bosch! I’ll keep her right here with me! Eternally together! Eternally mine!”
    When I got to the steel door, I hit it with both fists until I heard the electronic lock snap and the guard began to slide it open.
    “All right, man, all right. What’s the hurry?”
    “Just get me out of here,” I said as I pushed past him.
    I could still hear Seguin’s voice echoing from the death house as I crossed back across the open field.

One-Dollar Jackpot

    The call came in after the usual killing hours. Bosch checked the clock as he rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. It was 5:45 A.M. and that was late for a murder call.
    It was Lieutenant Larry Gandle with the news.
    “Harry, you and Ignacio are up. Pacific is turning over a case to us. Female, thirty-eight years of age, name of Tracey Blitzstein. She got shot to death this morning in her car. One in the head. She was parked in her own driveway.”
    The name sounded slightly familiar but Bosch couldn’t immediately place it.
    “Who is she and why are we getting it?”
    “She’s sort of a TV star. She plays poker. Uses the name Tracey Blitz. Her husband plays, too, I’m told. So if you watch that sort of thing on cable, then you’ve probably seen her a few times. She gets profiled. They use her on the commercials. She was good-looking and apparently the best thing the female species had to offer in the arena of professional poker.”
    Bosch nodded. He only watched poker on TV when he had insomnia and the World Series of Poker reruns were on ESPN . He knew it was very popular. But all that wasn’t why he knew the name Tracey Blitz. Years earlier the name came up from time to time with his ex-wife, who also played poker for a living. Eleanor Wish, his ex, had always called the world of professional poker a men’s club and maintained that no woman would ever win the World Series. She said a woman named Tracey Blitz had the skills and reads to win poker’s greatest tournament but the men would simply never allow it. They would subconsciously pool their testosterone, if needed, and gang up and eliminate her if she ever got to the final table. It was about dominance of the species, Eleanor Wish said.
    Now Tracey Blitz would never get the chance to win the big one. She had been eliminated from competition in a different and more permanent manner.
    Bosch asked Gandle for the location of the crime scene and was given an address in Venice on the canals.
    “What else, Lieutenant?” Bosch asked. “We got any witnesses?”
    “Not yet—we’re not even an hour into this. I’m told the husband was home asleep. He woke up and came out and found her in the car. He saw no suspect or getaway vehicle.”
    “Where is the husband?”
    “I told them to take him downtown to Parker Center.”
    “Who is he? You said he’s a player, too?”
    “Yeah, just not at the same level as his wife. His name is David Blitzstein.”
    Bosch thought about things, his mind becoming sharper as he left sleep behind and concentrated on what he was being told.
    “Is it just going to be me and Ignacio?” he asked, referring to his partner.
    “You guys are lead. I’ll bring in Reggie Sauer and he can coordinate from Parker Center and baby-sit the husband till you get in there. You also have the Pacific team for as long as you need them.”
    Bosch nodded. That wouldn’t be much help. Usually when divisional detectives were replaced by Homicide Special, there was resentment. It was hard to get them to hang in and help.
    “You got any names from Pacific?”
    “Just one.”
    Gandle gave him the name and cell number of the lead Pacific Division detective who had gotten the first callout at 5:01 that morning. Bosch was impressed that decisions were made quickly and he was now on the case less than an hour into it. That was a good sign. He