Read Online Color Blind by Jonathan Santlofer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Santlofer
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because”
“You worked her case. That’s how.”
The words hit Kate like ice water thrown in her face. “ What? You’re suggesting I work Richard’s case?”
“Forgive me, Kate, but you and I go back a long timepartners on the Astoria force, my divorce, your miscarriages. I think I know you. You are not a passive woman. You’re a take-action, kick-ass dame. That’s what makes you tick, always has.”
Kate took a moment to imagine it, the idea of not only picking up police work again, but actually having the ability to detach enough to pursue her husband’s killer.
“You said Floyd Brown wanted you to consult on the case,” Liz continued. “Clearly, it was a case he thought you could, and should, be involved in, and Tapell agreed.”
“That was before” Kate swallowed, hard. “Before Richard. It’s not just a case now.”
“I know that. And believe me, I’m not trying to talk you into anything.” Liz rested her hand gently on Kate’s arm. “You asked me a questionhow did you survive Elena’s murder?and I reminded you. That’s all.”
Later, in the shower, Liz’s question resonated work the case and while Kate stood naked under jets of hot water she realized that simply the idea itself had made it possible for her to get out of bed, step into the shower, squeeze shampoo into her palms, and lather up her hair, all without crying or thinking about loss and pain, her mind occupied and distracted for the first time since Richard died.
What was it Willie had said after Elena’s deaththat he had used his painting to overcome his grief, to reconstruct his shattered world?
Kate stepped out of the shower, wrapped a soft white towel around her wet hair, studied her face in the slightly steamy mirror. The woman who stared back at her actually looked different from the woman who had been crying for days, her eyes somewhat more alive now, mouth determined.
Work the case. Was it possible?
Kate plucked a cotton ball from a glass canister, dipped it into aquamarine-colored astringent, drew the liquid across her skin as though stripping away the layers of civility she had painted over the tough young cop from Queens. The face that stared back at her was not quite Kate Rothstein, wife and socialite who gave fabulous dinner parties and worked for charitable organizations. Instead she was getting closer to that younger, grittier homicide detective who could take in the worst possible crime scenes, chase down runaways, and defeat the Death Artist.
Kate nodded at her image, acknowledged an old friend she was damn glad to see.
She could do this. She could be a cop again.
Apparently, Liz knew her better than she knew herself. And why not, after almost twenty years of friendship, though when they’d first mettwo rookies, a year on the Astoria forcethey had not particularly hit it off. Kate McKinnon, the feisty Irish girl from the family of cops; Liz Jacobs, the brainy Jewish girl whose family had practically disowned her when she’d traded a psych degree at NYU to study police work at John Jay.
It was a case, the disappearance of a sweet-faced eight-year-old boy, Denny Klingman, whose school photo practically broke Kate’s heart, and the capture of Malcolm Gormely, a crack-dealing pornographer, pedophile, and possible murderer, that had ultimately brought the two women together.
Gormely was the number one contender in the Klingman disappearance and had evaded the NYPD in Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Staten Island, switching his base of operations from borough to borough whenever he smelled the cops closing in. Now it was suspected he’d set up shop somewhere in Long Island City.
Queens Chief of Police Clare Tapell thought women would be a good addition to the all-male special victims squad. She chose Kate because of her experience in tracking runaways, and paired her with Liz, who was already known as a diligent researcher. Within a day Kate was having a
“You worked her case. That’s how.”
The words hit Kate like ice water thrown in her face. “ What? You’re suggesting I work Richard’s case?”
“Forgive me, Kate, but you and I go back a long timepartners on the Astoria force, my divorce, your miscarriages. I think I know you. You are not a passive woman. You’re a take-action, kick-ass dame. That’s what makes you tick, always has.”
Kate took a moment to imagine it, the idea of not only picking up police work again, but actually having the ability to detach enough to pursue her husband’s killer.
“You said Floyd Brown wanted you to consult on the case,” Liz continued. “Clearly, it was a case he thought you could, and should, be involved in, and Tapell agreed.”
“That was before” Kate swallowed, hard. “Before Richard. It’s not just a case now.”
“I know that. And believe me, I’m not trying to talk you into anything.” Liz rested her hand gently on Kate’s arm. “You asked me a questionhow did you survive Elena’s murder?and I reminded you. That’s all.”
Later, in the shower, Liz’s question resonated work the case and while Kate stood naked under jets of hot water she realized that simply the idea itself had made it possible for her to get out of bed, step into the shower, squeeze shampoo into her palms, and lather up her hair, all without crying or thinking about loss and pain, her mind occupied and distracted for the first time since Richard died.
What was it Willie had said after Elena’s deaththat he had used his painting to overcome his grief, to reconstruct his shattered world?
Kate stepped out of the shower, wrapped a soft white towel around her wet hair, studied her face in the slightly steamy mirror. The woman who stared back at her actually looked different from the woman who had been crying for days, her eyes somewhat more alive now, mouth determined.
Work the case. Was it possible?
Kate plucked a cotton ball from a glass canister, dipped it into aquamarine-colored astringent, drew the liquid across her skin as though stripping away the layers of civility she had painted over the tough young cop from Queens. The face that stared back at her was not quite Kate Rothstein, wife and socialite who gave fabulous dinner parties and worked for charitable organizations. Instead she was getting closer to that younger, grittier homicide detective who could take in the worst possible crime scenes, chase down runaways, and defeat the Death Artist.
Kate nodded at her image, acknowledged an old friend she was damn glad to see.
She could do this. She could be a cop again.
Apparently, Liz knew her better than she knew herself. And why not, after almost twenty years of friendship, though when they’d first mettwo rookies, a year on the Astoria forcethey had not particularly hit it off. Kate McKinnon, the feisty Irish girl from the family of cops; Liz Jacobs, the brainy Jewish girl whose family had practically disowned her when she’d traded a psych degree at NYU to study police work at John Jay.
It was a case, the disappearance of a sweet-faced eight-year-old boy, Denny Klingman, whose school photo practically broke Kate’s heart, and the capture of Malcolm Gormely, a crack-dealing pornographer, pedophile, and possible murderer, that had ultimately brought the two women together.
Gormely was the number one contender in the Klingman disappearance and had evaded the NYPD in Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Staten Island, switching his base of operations from borough to borough whenever he smelled the cops closing in. Now it was suspected he’d set up shop somewhere in Long Island City.
Queens Chief of Police Clare Tapell thought women would be a good addition to the all-male special victims squad. She chose Kate because of her experience in tracking runaways, and paired her with Liz, who was already known as a diligent researcher. Within a day Kate was having a
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