Werewolf Cop by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page B

Acropolis,” she added, pointing to one of the fires. “The Louvre—look at that. Eesh.” The sound was on low. Reporter’s voices murmuring: Unions . . . Islamists . . . Fascists. . . . She muted them now. “Sit down, sit down.”
    She pointed them to the sofa, then took her place in the armchair in front of her vast wood-veneer desk, her thin legs crossed. The men sat shoulder to shoulder on the oversoft cushions, looking at her where she was framed in the glare of day from the big window behind her. The gleaming right triangle that topped the Citibank office tower was wedged into the gray autumn sky out there. The flaming images on the TV set were half-visible on the wall to their left.
    Rebecca Abraham-Hartwell was small and taut and wiry. Hair short and wiry. A big nose on a long face—looked like a depressed pony, Goulart once said, a description Zach could never quite get out of his mind. She always wore pants suits, always dark colors—dark blue today—with something bright for contrast—a bright green jacket now. Zach imagined she had gotten this fashion strategy from some magazine article about “Power Dressing” or something. But that was just a guess; such things were beyond his ken.
    â€œSo, where are we on Paz?” she said. She addressed herself to Zach. She loathed Goulart. No big surprise. It wasn’t as if he was discreet in expressing his opinions about her. And he was just the sort of swinging dick she generally hated on sight anyway. So while she prided herself on her objective appreciation of his professional skills, blah, blah, blah, she would have loved to reassign the guy to a school crossing somewhere.
    â€œStill canvassing, looking for any more videos,” said Zach—while she peered at him with her big, dampish eyes in a very intent I-am-all-business-Buster sort of way. “Waiting for the ME prelim, though I’ve got a hunch our vics died from being chopped into pieces. Our main lead is the boy. He says Abend was looking for something.”
    â€œSomething or someone,” Rebecca Abraham-Hartwell corrected him brusquely. “He said Abend was asking about a ‘stupid bastard.’”
    Zach didn’t want to undercut April Gomez—and didn’t want Goulart to open his big mouth and undercut her—so he disregarded this and pushed on.
    â€œSince Paz was a fence,” Zach said, “we’re going on the theory that what Abend’s after is likely some item of stolen merchandise that passed through his hands—or something Abend believes passed through his hands. Whatever it is, if the boy is right, Abend was willing to show up personally to torture Paz into telling him where it is. We figure he either got the information he wanted out of Paz before he killed him, or Paz didn’t have what he wanted, so he killed him as the perfect end to a perfect evening. Either way, we figure if we find out what Abend wants, we have a chance of finding Abend.”
    â€œIdeas?”
    And what’s with all her clipped one-word, two-word sentences? Goulart sometimes ranted. Is that supposed to make us understand just how tough and efficient she is? Talk like a human being, for Christ’s sake!
    â€œWe’re trying to run down who Paz was doing business with,” Zach went on. “And any storage facilities where he might’ve been warehousing the hot goods.”
    â€œGood,” said Rebecca Abraham-Hartwell. “Follow up on that.”
    No , Zach knew Goulart would say later, we thought we’d just let it lie there like a lox . Which was a particularly irritating thing about Goulart: the way he got in your head so you would actually think the things he was going to say later. You basically ended up saying them for him as if to save him the trouble.
    â€œThere’s something else,” said Zach. “Could be nothing, but. . . . The boy said Abend was asking about