Triptych by Karin Slaughter Read Free Book Online Page A

were snatching kids down in Florida, swapping them back and forth with their buddies in Montana.
    It was all going out of Hartsfield; they were moving them through there like cattle. Your buddy’s team cracked it open in a month. Gal gets a big promotion, Trent stays where he is.“
    “He was head of the team?” Yep.
    “”Why didn’t he get promoted?“
    “Have to ask him that.”
    “If I could ask him, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
    Leo’s eyes flashed, like his feelings had been hurt. “That’s all I got, man. Trent’s a straight arrow, knows his job. You want more, you need to call somebody downtown and find out yourself.”
    Michael stared at his cigarette, watching it burn. Gina would kill him if she saw him smoking. She’d smell it on his hands as soon as he got home.
    He dropped the butt onto the ground, grinding it in with his heel. “Is Angie still working Vice?”
    “Polaski?” Leo asked, like he didn’t quite believe his ears. “You don’t wanna go fucking with that pollack.”
    “Answer the fucking question.”
    Leo took out another cigarette and lit it from the first. “Yeah. Last I heard.”
    “If Trent comes looking for me, tell him I’ll meet him back down here in a few minutes.”
    Michael didn’t give Leo time to answer. He ran back up the steps to the third floor, his lungs rattling in his chest by the time he opened the door. Vice was a mostly nighttime endeavor, so half the squad was in the room filling out paperwork from last night’s sweep. Angie had obviously worked catch. She was wearing a halter-top that stopped three inches above her belly button and a blonde wig was splayed on her desk like a dead Pomeranian.
    He waited for her to look up, and when she did, she wasn’t exactly happy to see him. As Michael walked over, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs under a skirt so short he looked away out of decency.
    “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Jesus, you look like hell.”
    Michael ran his fingers through his hair. He was sweating from the sprint up the stairs. The smoke was still in his lungs and he coughed something that sounded like a death rattle. Christ, he’d be joining Ken in a wheelchair if he kept this up.
    He said, “I need to talk to you a minute.”
    She looked wary. “About what?”
    Michael leaned over her desk, trying to keep the conversation between them.
    “Uh-uh,” she said, pushing him back as she stood up. “Let’s go out into the hall.”
    He followed her, aware that the rest of the squad was watching. The truth was that Michael had liked working Vice. You watched the girls, you picked up the Johns, you seldom got shot at or had to tell a parent that their son or daughter had been found floating in the Chattahoochee. He hadn’t left because he wanted to. Angie had been a problem for him. They hadn’t exactly gotten along, and the fact that she was agreeing to talk to him now was up there with the world’s biggest surprises.
    She tugged at her skirt as she stepped into a nook across from the elevators. Beside her, an ancient vending machine hummed, the lights flickering. She asked, “You here to talk about Aleesha Monroe?”
    “The pross?” He hadn’t even thought to pull her record.
    “You don’t remember her?” Angie asked. “We banged her up a couple of times until she hooked up with Baby G.”
    Michael answered “Yeah,” though Angie shouldn’t really expect him to remember one hooker out of the thousands they had arrested on the weekend sweeps. Some Saturday nights, they called out a wagon just to transport all the girls to the station. Cabs lined up outside the precinct to take them right back out onto the street a couple of hours later.
    Michael began, “I just-”
    The elevator door dinged behind him. Michael looked over his shoulder and saw Will Trent.
    “Shit,” Michael muttered.
    “Kit Kat,” Trent said, and Michael’s brain took its sweet time figuring out what the fuck the guy was