Read Online Cross Fire by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
Tags: FIC031000
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call, and I can make this whole crime scene my own private country club. It’s up to you, Detective. What do you want to do?”
Chapter 26
IT TOOK ABOUT ten seconds for me to figure out what Max Siegel was all about, and I wasn’t going to have any of it.
“Listen, Siegel, I’m not going to pretend I can keep you off this case any more than you can do the same to me,” I told him. “But let
me
make one thing very clear here. This is an MPD crime scene. I’m ranking Homicide, and if you want to take that up with the chief, he’s right outside. Meanwhile, if I have to tell you how quickly a room like this can cool, then you shouldn’t be here to begin with.”
No doubt, there would be a full task force after tonight, and I’d probably find myself working with this Bureau jerkoff as we moved forward. But right now was not the best time for pissing contests. By him — or by me.
Sampson came in from the yard, looking at me as if to say,
Who is this guy?
I made the necessary introductions.
“Agent Siegel and I were just comparing theories,” I said,trying to lighten things up a little and put us back on track. “He’s got a military take on this, too.”
Right away, Siegel started talking again. “Holding forth” was more like it.
“Military snipers go after high-value targets — officers, not enlisted men,” he said. “The way I see it, that’s what these victims are. Not the bank president but the congressman and the lobbyist who keep him juiced. And not the taxpayer who’s been ripping off Uncle Sam but the other way around.”
“A killer for the common man,” Sampson said.
“With the very best training in the world.” Siegel reached out until he was almost touching the black hole centered one inch above Mel Dlouhy’s left ear. “That kind of accuracy doesn’t lie.”
I listened without saying too much. This guy wanted to lecture, not collaborate, but he was also pretty good at what he did. If there were things he could see here that I couldn’t, then I needed to bite my tongue long enough to find out what they were.
It was just what Nana Mama’s old refrigerator magnet had been telling me to do for as long as I could remember:
You find yourself with a lemon — make lemonade.
Chapter 27
THE STREET OUTSIDE the Dlouhy house was filling up slowly and steadily — a thing of beauty. Denny and Mitch hung around the edge of the crowd, not coming too close but close enough to take it in. Given the shitty night they’d had at the shelter after the first hit, Denny figured Mitch could use a little positive exposure.
Either Mel Dlouhy’s body was still inside or they’d snuck the fuck out the back. Cops in jackets and ties kept walking past the living room windows, and you could see that there were brilliant floodlights on behind the house.
Mitch didn’t say much, but Denny could tell he was pumped. The scope of this whole thing was really starting to settle over the big guy. Nah, big
kid
was more like it.
“Excuse me, Officer. Did they catch the guy?” Denny asked one of the cops around the perimeter — and now he was just showing off for Mitch.
“You’ll have to check the paper or TV, sir,” the cop told him. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Denny turned halfway around and spoke low. “You hear that?
Sir.
Must be a good neighborhood.” Mitch looked off to the side and scratched at his jaw to keep from cracking up too much.
The cop was just about to get on the radio when Denny spoke up again. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare ciggie on you?” He held up a blue Bic lighter. People always like to see the homeless guy with his own match, and sure enough the porker reached into his cruiser for a pack of Camel Lights.
“One’s fine,” Denny said, making sure Mitch was visible over his shoulder. “We can share.”
The cop took two out of the pack. “What unit were you with?”
Denny looked down at his faded camo jacket. “Third Brigade Combat Team,
Chapter 26
IT TOOK ABOUT ten seconds for me to figure out what Max Siegel was all about, and I wasn’t going to have any of it.
“Listen, Siegel, I’m not going to pretend I can keep you off this case any more than you can do the same to me,” I told him. “But let
me
make one thing very clear here. This is an MPD crime scene. I’m ranking Homicide, and if you want to take that up with the chief, he’s right outside. Meanwhile, if I have to tell you how quickly a room like this can cool, then you shouldn’t be here to begin with.”
No doubt, there would be a full task force after tonight, and I’d probably find myself working with this Bureau jerkoff as we moved forward. But right now was not the best time for pissing contests. By him — or by me.
Sampson came in from the yard, looking at me as if to say,
Who is this guy?
I made the necessary introductions.
“Agent Siegel and I were just comparing theories,” I said,trying to lighten things up a little and put us back on track. “He’s got a military take on this, too.”
Right away, Siegel started talking again. “Holding forth” was more like it.
“Military snipers go after high-value targets — officers, not enlisted men,” he said. “The way I see it, that’s what these victims are. Not the bank president but the congressman and the lobbyist who keep him juiced. And not the taxpayer who’s been ripping off Uncle Sam but the other way around.”
“A killer for the common man,” Sampson said.
“With the very best training in the world.” Siegel reached out until he was almost touching the black hole centered one inch above Mel Dlouhy’s left ear. “That kind of accuracy doesn’t lie.”
I listened without saying too much. This guy wanted to lecture, not collaborate, but he was also pretty good at what he did. If there were things he could see here that I couldn’t, then I needed to bite my tongue long enough to find out what they were.
It was just what Nana Mama’s old refrigerator magnet had been telling me to do for as long as I could remember:
You find yourself with a lemon — make lemonade.
Chapter 27
THE STREET OUTSIDE the Dlouhy house was filling up slowly and steadily — a thing of beauty. Denny and Mitch hung around the edge of the crowd, not coming too close but close enough to take it in. Given the shitty night they’d had at the shelter after the first hit, Denny figured Mitch could use a little positive exposure.
Either Mel Dlouhy’s body was still inside or they’d snuck the fuck out the back. Cops in jackets and ties kept walking past the living room windows, and you could see that there were brilliant floodlights on behind the house.
Mitch didn’t say much, but Denny could tell he was pumped. The scope of this whole thing was really starting to settle over the big guy. Nah, big
kid
was more like it.
“Excuse me, Officer. Did they catch the guy?” Denny asked one of the cops around the perimeter — and now he was just showing off for Mitch.
“You’ll have to check the paper or TV, sir,” the cop told him. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Denny turned halfway around and spoke low. “You hear that?
Sir.
Must be a good neighborhood.” Mitch looked off to the side and scratched at his jaw to keep from cracking up too much.
The cop was just about to get on the radio when Denny spoke up again. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare ciggie on you?” He held up a blue Bic lighter. People always like to see the homeless guy with his own match, and sure enough the porker reached into his cruiser for a pack of Camel Lights.
“One’s fine,” Denny said, making sure Mitch was visible over his shoulder. “We can share.”
The cop took two out of the pack. “What unit were you with?”
Denny looked down at his faded camo jacket. “Third Brigade Combat Team,
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