VC04 - Jury Double by Edward Stewart Read Free Book Online Page B

out the way we’d like them to. Sleep tight.”
    Kyra walked Anne to the front door.
    “Isn’t he a little old to be afraid of the dark?” Anne said.
    “It’s only started lately. His shrink says it’s because he’s looking for a father figure.”
    “Is there a connection?”
    “Absolutely.” Kyra pulled the apartment door open. “This custody hearing has got him as much on edge as it has me.”
    “It’ll work out.” Anne kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, sweetie. Thanks for dinner.”
    “And thanks for saving my life. I mean it.”

SIX
    Tuesday, September 17
    Last day of voir dire
    9:20 A.M.
    P ICKETS SURGED AROUND THE 60 Centre Street entrance of New York State Supreme Court, which despite its name was not the highest court in the state system. Voices and placards screamed, Free Corey Lyle!
    Freedom of religion!
    Stop the government-sponsored witchhunt!
    Anne threaded her way up the steps, through the mob, past the pillars. The picketers were a satanic, druggy-looking lot. Many of them, male and female alike, had shaved their heads.
    As she approached the brass-framed door, a young woman jumped in front of her. “Juror! Juror!” she screamed.
    Anne recoiled from eyes of hatred and madness. “You’re mistaken—I’m not on any jury.”
    “Liar! Bitch!” The girl swung her picket.
    A tall, dark-haired man stepped forward and caught the blow on his outstretched arm. Seizing the picket, he snapped it in half and flung the pieces to the ground.
    “Fascist!” the girl screeched. “Racist!”
    The man held the door and shot Anne a grin. “Pretty nerve-racking around here today.”
    “I’ll say. Thanks.” Anne stepped into a two-story marble rotunda lined with plaster friezes and carved inscriptions. Scores of people with scores of purposes hurried through. Echoing voices and footsteps rained down from the vaulted ceiling.
    She went through the upstretched arms of a metal detector. Her Good Samaritan bypassed the detector and showed the guard his wallet. Anne caught the flash of a detective’s gold shield.
    “So you’re a detective,” she said in her most chirping Kyra manner.
    He looked at her oddly.
    “I’m Kyra Talbot. Good to meet you.”
    “Lieutenant Vince Cardozo. We’ve had this conversation before.”
    “Have we?”
    “We met yesterday.”
    “Of course. I’m sorry, I—”
    “Don’t worry. Happens to me all the time.”
    They walked to the elevator. A wave of chattering secretaries swept past. He stepped aside for her to go in first and pushed a button. “You’re five, same as me, right?”
    She had no idea. “Right.”
    The door shut and the elevator lifted with a lurch.
    “Know what I hate?” he said. “Waiting. I’ve been here since nine-thirty yesterday, waiting for the prosecutor, waiting for your jury.”
    “Sorry about my jury.”
    “It’s not your fault. It’s the lawyers.”
    The elevator stopped. He walked her down the corridor to room 506. “Have a good one,” he called.
    Cardozo knocked at room 509. The door opened and Tess diAngeli extended a hand in greeting.
    “Thanks for coming by. Sorry I couldn’t see you yesterday. Excuse this broom closet. We’re a little short of space. And time.” She motioned to one of the folding metal chairs. “You took notes on the crime scene, right? Will you be testifying from them?”
    He sat. “If I need to refresh my recollection.”
    “Could I see them?”
    He reached into his pocket and handed her the notebook.
    She leafed through the pages. “You have nice handwriting—for a cop.” She smiled and it softened her face, and for an instant she looked like the young woman she was. “I know some cops who scribble so no one else can read the notes if they’re subpoenaed.”
    Cardozo had a feeling that was a suggestion.
    She flattened out a page. “You certainly were thorough.” Too thorough , her tone said. “Actually, we’re not going to be using all of this.” She took a small roll of Scotch tape