Read Online Anatomy of Fear by Jonathan Santlofer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Santlofer
Ads: Link
victims’ backgrounds?”
“Vic number one was a college senior, twenty-one, going to get his car parked in a lot three blocks from the bar where he’d been with friends.”
“And the friends didn’t see anything? No one following them?”
“They were at the bar when he was killed. According to their statements they didn’t see a thing.”
“And the second?”
“Harrison Stone. Came out of the subway, walked four blocks, boom, shot dead. There was an elderly couple down the street, but they didn’t see it happen. Woman says she saw someone hovering over the body, but had no idea what was going on till they got closer, and by then whoever was leaning over him was gone.”
“Any description?”
“Male.” She frowned.
“And her companion, he see anything?”
“He’s blind. Literally.”
“What about traffic? Maybe a cabdriver saw something?”
“Dead-end street. Virtually no traffic.”
“You said the victim walked four blocks. So the unsub could have shot him earlier, but waited. So he must have known about the dead-end street.” I closed my eyes and tried to picture it, but couldn’t. “I should go to the scene. And I want to talk to the woman who saw the man leaning over the body. She might have a picture in her mind that she doesn’t even know is there.”
Terri’s face brightened. Clearly, this was what she wanted from me.
“I’ve just got to do some paperwork,” she said. “Give me an hour and we can go to Brooklyn together.”
I liked the idea of that.
“Afterward you can talk to the college kid’s roommate. It’s a long shot. He wasn’t on the scene, but he was there just before it went down.” Russo looked into my eyes. “We’ve got three dead men, Rodriguez. Someone had to have seen something.”
T erri closed the door behind Nate and glanced down at the sketches he’d made—the man in the long coat, the scary close-upof the eye. Maybe the Brooklyn witness could add more. One thing for sure: She’d been right about Rodriguez. And now, with the G looking over her shoulder, she needed all the help she could get.
She thought back to the meeting earlier that morning, Agent Monica Collins throwing around terms like methodology and victimology like she had invented them, asking Terri if she understood. She just smiled, said, “Yes, I think I’ve got it, but thanks so much for asking.” Bitch. Why was it women were always so shitty to one another? Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of sisterhood? Not so she ever noticed. At least with the men it was right out there, grabbing your ass or ignoring you. The women, they were all smiles while they cut you off at the knees.
Denton had run the meeting, acting like he actually knew something about the case, though it had been Terri who’d briefed him, written everything in simple prose he could regurgitate. He hadn’t thanked her, not that she expected he would. He was too busy charming Agent Collins, smiling at her with that sexy grin of his, flirting with the bureau, not the woman, though poor Agent Collins didn’t seem to know that. Poor Agent Collins, my ass.
For now, the G team was collecting data and feeding it back to Quantico. Nobody had said anything about the NYPD quitting the investigation, not yet. Three different precincts involved, and now the G. What a mess. The feds wanted full reports and full cooperation. No doubt full credit too.
Terri glanced at the crime scene drawings she’d laid out for Rodriguez. Three men—one black, one Hispanic, one white. If it hadn’t been for the college kid, the white guy, she would be thinking racial angle, but this didn’t make any sense. So what was it that was nagging at the back of her mind?
14
P erry Denton popped a five-milligram Valium into his mouth and washed it down with decaf. It wasn’t that he needed it—he could quit at any time—it relaxed him, that’s all, and these days he needed to relax. He picked up the phone after the sixth annoying
“Vic number one was a college senior, twenty-one, going to get his car parked in a lot three blocks from the bar where he’d been with friends.”
“And the friends didn’t see anything? No one following them?”
“They were at the bar when he was killed. According to their statements they didn’t see a thing.”
“And the second?”
“Harrison Stone. Came out of the subway, walked four blocks, boom, shot dead. There was an elderly couple down the street, but they didn’t see it happen. Woman says she saw someone hovering over the body, but had no idea what was going on till they got closer, and by then whoever was leaning over him was gone.”
“Any description?”
“Male.” She frowned.
“And her companion, he see anything?”
“He’s blind. Literally.”
“What about traffic? Maybe a cabdriver saw something?”
“Dead-end street. Virtually no traffic.”
“You said the victim walked four blocks. So the unsub could have shot him earlier, but waited. So he must have known about the dead-end street.” I closed my eyes and tried to picture it, but couldn’t. “I should go to the scene. And I want to talk to the woman who saw the man leaning over the body. She might have a picture in her mind that she doesn’t even know is there.”
Terri’s face brightened. Clearly, this was what she wanted from me.
“I’ve just got to do some paperwork,” she said. “Give me an hour and we can go to Brooklyn together.”
I liked the idea of that.
“Afterward you can talk to the college kid’s roommate. It’s a long shot. He wasn’t on the scene, but he was there just before it went down.” Russo looked into my eyes. “We’ve got three dead men, Rodriguez. Someone had to have seen something.”
T erri closed the door behind Nate and glanced down at the sketches he’d made—the man in the long coat, the scary close-upof the eye. Maybe the Brooklyn witness could add more. One thing for sure: She’d been right about Rodriguez. And now, with the G looking over her shoulder, she needed all the help she could get.
She thought back to the meeting earlier that morning, Agent Monica Collins throwing around terms like methodology and victimology like she had invented them, asking Terri if she understood. She just smiled, said, “Yes, I think I’ve got it, but thanks so much for asking.” Bitch. Why was it women were always so shitty to one another? Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of sisterhood? Not so she ever noticed. At least with the men it was right out there, grabbing your ass or ignoring you. The women, they were all smiles while they cut you off at the knees.
Denton had run the meeting, acting like he actually knew something about the case, though it had been Terri who’d briefed him, written everything in simple prose he could regurgitate. He hadn’t thanked her, not that she expected he would. He was too busy charming Agent Collins, smiling at her with that sexy grin of his, flirting with the bureau, not the woman, though poor Agent Collins didn’t seem to know that. Poor Agent Collins, my ass.
For now, the G team was collecting data and feeding it back to Quantico. Nobody had said anything about the NYPD quitting the investigation, not yet. Three different precincts involved, and now the G. What a mess. The feds wanted full reports and full cooperation. No doubt full credit too.
Terri glanced at the crime scene drawings she’d laid out for Rodriguez. Three men—one black, one Hispanic, one white. If it hadn’t been for the college kid, the white guy, she would be thinking racial angle, but this didn’t make any sense. So what was it that was nagging at the back of her mind?
14
P erry Denton popped a five-milligram Valium into his mouth and washed it down with decaf. It wasn’t that he needed it—he could quit at any time—it relaxed him, that’s all, and these days he needed to relax. He picked up the phone after the sixth annoying
Similar Books
