Read Online Color Blind by Jonathan Santlofer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Santlofer
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face-to-face with a former prison cellmate of Gormely’s, who, in exchange for a five-year reduction on his twenty-year armed-robbery term, informed her of Gormely’s predilection for prepubescent boys, preferably blond (Denny Klingman was blond), and the telephone number of a man the feds wanted for child pornography who traded dirty pictures with Malcolm Gormely. Meanwhile, Liz had cross-checked every file on any kid who had gone missing over the past decade, and any MO that even remotely resembled Gormely’s (snatching kids in supermarkets while their moms or nannies were preoccupied selecting Birds Eye frozen peas or corn niblets).
The short of it was that Kate made contact with the kiddy pornographer by posing as a buyer, got him into cuffs, and threatened to cut his balls off if he didn’t tell her the whereabouts of Gormely’s new headquarters. Then she and Liz, fearing that sirens and flashing lights would further endanger little Denny Klingman’s life, staked out the deserted rag-and-remnant factory in Long Island City without backup. A few hours and several cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and glazed crullers later, they watched Malcolm Gormely leave, then picked the lock, found the nude and terrified Denny Klingman and another eight-year-old boy, both of them blond and cherubic, tied and gagged. Liz brought the kids back to the station while Kate bagged the photo equipment and stash of kiddie porn that almost made her sick, then sat back, lit up a cigarette, and waited for Malcolm Gormely.
Three hours later, when the backup Kate had called arrived on the scene, they needed an ambulance for Gormely. “He resisted arrest” was all Kate had said.
Denny Klingman was returned to his grateful parents. But no one claimed the other boy. Not until Gormely divulged the fact that the kid had been sold to him by the boy’s crack-addicted mother for a two-day supply of heroin.
It took two burly cops to hold Kate back when they tracked the woman down and brought her in, and later, after the mother had talked her way around an overwhelmed Child Protective Services Unit, Kate was sorry she hadn’t killed the woman when she had the chance. For months that little boy’s face had haunted her dreams. Just one more kid she could not save.
At the rather brief Internal Affairs investigation Liz covered for her by testifying that Malcolm Gormely had indeed resisted arrest, that Kate had no choice but to tackle the guy to stop him from escapingeven though she hadn’t been there. The fact that Kate had suffered no more than severely lacerated knuckles while the pedophile sustained two black eyes, a shattered cheekbone, several missing teeth, a broken kneecap, and seven fractured fingers was deemed “necessary” by IA. After all, it was reasoned, Kate could have shot him.
After that case, Kate and Liz were heroes and friends forever, though they never spoke about Malcolm Gormelyor the wrath Kate had rained upon him.
K ate crossed her bedroom, bare feet on plush carpets, and opened her spacious walk-in closet. Thinking about Liz, how they had first met and worked together, and what she had done to Malcolm Gormely seemed like another lifetime. She had been an entirely different person then.
Or had she?
Even now she could remember how good it had felt to hurt that guy.
Kate forced the memory away, concentrated on choosing clothes that would feel like cop business, pushing aside the high-end designers, settling for jeans and strong-soled shoes, each selection separating her farther from her normal life.
Her .45 Glock automatic was just where she’d put it a year ago, on the top shelf of her closet, way in the back, behind a stack of old scarves she rarely wore.
Why hadn’t she gotten rid of it? She had thought about doing it dozens of times, but hadn’t.
Kate wrapped her hand around the weapon, the pistol she’d gotten a year before she’d left the Astoria force, choosing it for its lightweight
The short of it was that Kate made contact with the kiddy pornographer by posing as a buyer, got him into cuffs, and threatened to cut his balls off if he didn’t tell her the whereabouts of Gormely’s new headquarters. Then she and Liz, fearing that sirens and flashing lights would further endanger little Denny Klingman’s life, staked out the deserted rag-and-remnant factory in Long Island City without backup. A few hours and several cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and glazed crullers later, they watched Malcolm Gormely leave, then picked the lock, found the nude and terrified Denny Klingman and another eight-year-old boy, both of them blond and cherubic, tied and gagged. Liz brought the kids back to the station while Kate bagged the photo equipment and stash of kiddie porn that almost made her sick, then sat back, lit up a cigarette, and waited for Malcolm Gormely.
Three hours later, when the backup Kate had called arrived on the scene, they needed an ambulance for Gormely. “He resisted arrest” was all Kate had said.
Denny Klingman was returned to his grateful parents. But no one claimed the other boy. Not until Gormely divulged the fact that the kid had been sold to him by the boy’s crack-addicted mother for a two-day supply of heroin.
It took two burly cops to hold Kate back when they tracked the woman down and brought her in, and later, after the mother had talked her way around an overwhelmed Child Protective Services Unit, Kate was sorry she hadn’t killed the woman when she had the chance. For months that little boy’s face had haunted her dreams. Just one more kid she could not save.
At the rather brief Internal Affairs investigation Liz covered for her by testifying that Malcolm Gormely had indeed resisted arrest, that Kate had no choice but to tackle the guy to stop him from escapingeven though she hadn’t been there. The fact that Kate had suffered no more than severely lacerated knuckles while the pedophile sustained two black eyes, a shattered cheekbone, several missing teeth, a broken kneecap, and seven fractured fingers was deemed “necessary” by IA. After all, it was reasoned, Kate could have shot him.
After that case, Kate and Liz were heroes and friends forever, though they never spoke about Malcolm Gormelyor the wrath Kate had rained upon him.
K ate crossed her bedroom, bare feet on plush carpets, and opened her spacious walk-in closet. Thinking about Liz, how they had first met and worked together, and what she had done to Malcolm Gormely seemed like another lifetime. She had been an entirely different person then.
Or had she?
Even now she could remember how good it had felt to hurt that guy.
Kate forced the memory away, concentrated on choosing clothes that would feel like cop business, pushing aside the high-end designers, settling for jeans and strong-soled shoes, each selection separating her farther from her normal life.
Her .45 Glock automatic was just where she’d put it a year ago, on the top shelf of her closet, way in the back, behind a stack of old scarves she rarely wore.
Why hadn’t she gotten rid of it? She had thought about doing it dozens of times, but hadn’t.
Kate wrapped her hand around the weapon, the pistol she’d gotten a year before she’d left the Astoria force, choosing it for its lightweight
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