The Sniper's Wife by Archer Mayor Read Free Book Online

modern computer.
    “Yeah. I’m looking for Detective Ogden.”
    The computer operator called out to a man working near one of the windows—tall, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped gray hair, looking comfortable enough that the entire precinct house might have been built around him. Ogden was speaking quietly on the phone, reading from an open file before him. He glanced up, saw the assistant point to Willy with raised eyebrows, and waved Willy over, gesturing to the wooden chair beside his desk. One of its slats was missing.
    “Thanks,” Willy muttered, and crossed the room, noticing as he did so the flickered glances of the men he passed, taking inventory.
    A tiny glimmer of gold from Ogden’s sport coat caught Willy’s eye as he sat down: a small lapel pin in the shape of a brontosaurus. Willy studied the other officer more carefully, thinking back to Joe Gunther in Vermont.
    That pin identified Ward Ogden as a “dinosaur,” one of an elite few, the NYPD version of a Knight of the Round Table—skilled, battle-scarred, savvy, with an elephantine memory and enviable contacts. Dinosaurs were career detectives, classified First Grade and thus pulling down a lieutenant’s salary, but preferring to stay on the streets, catching cases, and given those rare pins by their respectful peers. For the most part, they were older, nearing retirement, had often gone to the academy with people who were now chiefs and sometimes even the commissioner, and were the most seasoned of what the detective bureau could offer. But they were more than that. It wasn’t just age that made a dinosaur. There was a mystique behind the lapel pin. These people had true bearing within the department. They’d successfully closed headline cases, sometimes several of them, with dignity and grace, paying homage to all who’d helped them, and avoiding the publicity that their more politically minded, upwardly mobile brethren so eagerly courted. Dinosaurs, like the brontosauruses chosen to symbolize them, were quiet giants.
    More cynically, Willy also knew, a helpful dinosaur was worth money in the bank, while the pissed-off version would make staying in New York a waste of time.
    Ogden hung up the phone and stuck out his hand to shake Willy’s. “Detective Kunkle?”
    Willy was surprised. “How’d you know?”
    Ogden laughed. “Lucky guess. I’m Ward Ogden. Thanks for coming by. I’m sorry for your loss. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
    Willy shook his head. “No, thanks. Had one already.”
    Ogden pointed his chin at the mug on his desk. “Smart man. I drink way too much of the stuff. My wife, Maria, says it’ll be the end of me in the long run. Probably right, too, although I tell her she hangs around doctors too much. She’s a nurse. When did you get in?”
    Willy proceeded carefully. “Last night. I didn’t want to waste time.”
    Ogden understood. “So, you’ve been by Bellevue already?”
    Willy watched the other man’s eyes, looking for what he might be after. In this kind of conversation, a man with Ogden’s experience didn’t ask questions he didn’t have the answers to, especially when they were already part of the record somewhere. No more than he had to rely on any “lucky guess” to know who Willy was. Willy decided to call him on it and establish a bit of his own credibility.
    “Just like it says in their report.”
    Ogden smiled slightly. “What’s it like being a cop in Vermont?”
    “Not so intense. We get to spend more time on our cases. The press covers each and every one, though, the money’s lousy, and turf’s still a big deal.”
    Ogden nodded. “Yeah. I guess every homicide is front page news—everybody wants a piece of it.”
    “Every homicide, every robbery, damn near every fender bender.” Willy had questions, too, and he dearly wanted the answers, but for once in his life, he was going to let the other party lead the dance.
    Ogden sat back in his chair. “Well, more to the point, I was