The Magdalene Cipher by Jim Hougan Read Free Book Online

a”
    Dunphy’s interrogators frowned. “Yes, well . . . I’m sure it was horrible,” Rhinegold said .
    Esterhazy looked away, and the room fell silent for a long moment .
    Finally, Dunphy asked, “So what’s the connection?”
    â€œConnection?”
    â€œBetween the surveillance and the killing.”
    â€œThere was no connection,” Esterhazy answered. “Why should there have been a connection?”
    â€œWell, it’s certainly an amazing coincidence, then. I mean, no one says anything sensitive on the telephone anymore! All the surveillance did was establish this guy’s domestic pattern. Did he have a dog, or did he have a cat? If he had a dog, when did he walk it—and where did he walk it? Did he visit the dentist, did he go to a chiropractor? Did he have a mistress?”
    â€œThis is not a productive tangent, Mr. Dunphy.” Rhinegold looked upset, but there was no stopping Dunphy, who was talking faster and faster .
    â€œWhat did he do? Where did he do it? When did he do it? Because—let’s face it—somewhere along the line, somebody found a way to pick this guy up in the middle of London, where they operate a—surgically operate—until he’s a fucking torso a—which they leave a—”
    â€œMr. Dunphy—”
    â€œâ€”outside a church , for Christ’s sake—”
    â€œJack—”
    â€œAnd I’m a a fucking suspect?! Whattaya mean there wasn’t any connection?!”
    Dunphy looked wildly at his inquisitors. No one said anything. The seconds ticked by. Finally, Esterhazy cleared his throat, embarrassed .
    â€œActually,” he said, “you’re not.”
    â€œNot what?”
    â€œA suspect.”
    â€œAnd how do you figure that?” Dunphy asked .
    â€œUnless and until Mr. Davis is found, you aren’t under suspicion yourself. You’re more like a, uh, prospective point of contact . a”
    â€œWhich is why it’s important that we locate Mr. Davis,” Rhinegold explained .
    â€œExactly,” Esterhazy said. “He may need our help.”
    The silence was huge. No one blinked .
    Finally, Dunphy turned the palms of his hands toward the lights overhead and let them drop. “Sorry, man. I don’t know where he is.”

Chapter 6
    The debriefing was still under way at 7 P.M . a when Rhinegold’s watch made a high, twittering noise, reminding him that he had to be somewhere else .
    The debriefers put their notes away, snapped their attaché cases closed, and got to their feet. “I think you ought to eat in your hotel,” Rhinegold said .
    â€œWhat a good idea!” Esterhazy interjected. “Room service! Talk about relaxing!”
    â€œWe’ll get back to this at oh-eight-hundred,” Rhinegold added .
    â€œDo you think we could make it a little later?” Dunphy asked. “Noon would be good.”
    Esterhazy and Rhinegold looked at him with empty eyes .
    â€œI need some clothes,” he explained. “A change of socks. The stores don’t open till ten.”
    Nothing. Not even a smile .
    Dunphy sighed. “Okay. No problem. I’ll wash ’em in the fuckin’ bathtub.”
    And he did. He bought a bottle of Woolite at the 7-Eleven, went back to his hotel room, and filled the tub with water. Undressing, he knelt on the bathroom floor and, swearing, washed his sweats and socks and underwear. He wrung out the water with his hands and draped the clothes over a chair in front of the radiator. Then he sat down to watch a movie on TV, ordered a hamburger from room service, and fell asleep wearing a towel .
    The debriefing resumed in the morning, with Dunphy in a sweat suit that was still damp from the tub. It went on until dusk, when they broke for a second time, and continued again on Tuesday, covering the same ground .
    It was exhausting, annoying, and in the end, it became perfunctory. With the