Read Online Glitsky 02 - Guilt by John Lescroart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Lescroart
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A woman stood, back-lit from the fluorescents overhead. Wearily, he pushed his chair back, glanced up at the clock on the wall. Five to five, and here's a random witness come to the Hall. His lucky day. 'Help you?' he asked.
'I might have remembered something.'
Glitsky had no idea who she was. He stood up. 'I'm sorry, you are…?'
She put her hand out. 'Christina Cairera. Tania Willows? We met this morning at the Rape Crisis Center.'
Glitsky narrowed his eyes. It was possible, he supposed. He really wasn't noticing women these days. The woman this morning wore jeans and a wet jacket and had soaking hair hanging down in front of her face. But he still didn't think he could have picked this woman out of a line-up as the person he'd interviewed in the morning.
He ran a hand across his forehead, assayed a broken smile. 'Keen eye for detail. It's what makes a good cop.' He sat back down, motioned she do the same, on the wooden chair by his desk. 'So what did you remember?'
'I'm not sure it's anything. I was downtown applying for a job. I thought it would be okay if I stopped in without an appointment.'
'It's fine,' Glitsky said, then repeated, 'what did you remember?'
'He has a tattoo.'
In the distant future, Glitsky thought, these days would be remembered as the Age of Bodily Mutilation. Everybody had a tattoo. Or a nipple ring, or at least something metal pushed through some erectile tissue somewhere.
But unless Tania Willows's rapist/killer had a tattoo of his full name with middle initial, it probably wasn't going to be distinctive enough to help Glitsky identify him. But the woman, Christina, was going on.
'I don't know why I didn't think of it this morning, when we were talking.' She touched her head. 'It just wasn't here. There were a lot of other things going on. And then I was thinking about Tania, what had happened – waiting for the bus, and I saw this guy in an ad with a tattoo…'
'Okay.'
She paused a minute, swallowed. 'It was on his penis.'
Glitsky pulled himself back up to the desk, sat up straighten Okay, this might be something.
'On his penis?'
She nodded. 'He asked her if she wanted to see his tattoo, and she said sure, thinking it was… I mean, you know. Not there. She never thought that.'
Glitsky broke a rare smile. 'The old "come up and see my etchings" trick, updated for the romantic nineties. Did Tania happen to notice what it said?'
Christina shook her head no. 'I'm sure she didn't. She would have…' She trailed off, but the pretty head kept shaking, looking down – embarrassed, Glitsky surmised, by the topic. Her eyes came up to his, and he saw that in fact she was trying to control herself, her laughter.
He knew exactly what she was thinking.
'Not
Wendy
then?'
'It's not funny,' she said. 'I don't mean to laugh. No, it wasn't
Wendy,
I don't think.'
The
Wendy
joke: when the man got an erection, the tattoo read:
Welcome to Jamaica. Have a nice day.
Suddenly, Glitsky, whose professional life was a litany of violent deaths, who hadn't slept more than four hours any night in the past month, who had little money, three young children, and whose thirty-nine-year-old wife was dying of cancer – suddenly something broke in him, as it had done in Christina that morning, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. Out loud.
The Chief of Homicide, Lieutenant Frank Batiste, had come out of his cubicle to see if anything was wrong. Glitsky hadn't laughed here in the Homicide Detail in his memory. Maybe nowhere else either.
'You okay, Abe?'
Glitsky had it back under control. He raised a hand to Batiste, looked over at Christina. 'That never happens to me. I'm very sorry.' His eyes glistened with tears. The fit had gone on for nearly half a minute.
'It's okay.' Christina had lost it for a second or two herself. 'It's supposed to be good for you.'
Glitsky wiped his eyes, took in a breath, sighed. 'Whew.' Batiste went back inside his office. 'Sorry anyway,' he repeated. Then, unexpected: 'I
'I might have remembered something.'
Glitsky had no idea who she was. He stood up. 'I'm sorry, you are…?'
She put her hand out. 'Christina Cairera. Tania Willows? We met this morning at the Rape Crisis Center.'
Glitsky narrowed his eyes. It was possible, he supposed. He really wasn't noticing women these days. The woman this morning wore jeans and a wet jacket and had soaking hair hanging down in front of her face. But he still didn't think he could have picked this woman out of a line-up as the person he'd interviewed in the morning.
He ran a hand across his forehead, assayed a broken smile. 'Keen eye for detail. It's what makes a good cop.' He sat back down, motioned she do the same, on the wooden chair by his desk. 'So what did you remember?'
'I'm not sure it's anything. I was downtown applying for a job. I thought it would be okay if I stopped in without an appointment.'
'It's fine,' Glitsky said, then repeated, 'what did you remember?'
'He has a tattoo.'
In the distant future, Glitsky thought, these days would be remembered as the Age of Bodily Mutilation. Everybody had a tattoo. Or a nipple ring, or at least something metal pushed through some erectile tissue somewhere.
But unless Tania Willows's rapist/killer had a tattoo of his full name with middle initial, it probably wasn't going to be distinctive enough to help Glitsky identify him. But the woman, Christina, was going on.
'I don't know why I didn't think of it this morning, when we were talking.' She touched her head. 'It just wasn't here. There were a lot of other things going on. And then I was thinking about Tania, what had happened – waiting for the bus, and I saw this guy in an ad with a tattoo…'
'Okay.'
She paused a minute, swallowed. 'It was on his penis.'
Glitsky pulled himself back up to the desk, sat up straighten Okay, this might be something.
'On his penis?'
She nodded. 'He asked her if she wanted to see his tattoo, and she said sure, thinking it was… I mean, you know. Not there. She never thought that.'
Glitsky broke a rare smile. 'The old "come up and see my etchings" trick, updated for the romantic nineties. Did Tania happen to notice what it said?'
Christina shook her head no. 'I'm sure she didn't. She would have…' She trailed off, but the pretty head kept shaking, looking down – embarrassed, Glitsky surmised, by the topic. Her eyes came up to his, and he saw that in fact she was trying to control herself, her laughter.
He knew exactly what she was thinking.
'Not
Wendy
then?'
'It's not funny,' she said. 'I don't mean to laugh. No, it wasn't
Wendy,
I don't think.'
The
Wendy
joke: when the man got an erection, the tattoo read:
Welcome to Jamaica. Have a nice day.
Suddenly, Glitsky, whose professional life was a litany of violent deaths, who hadn't slept more than four hours any night in the past month, who had little money, three young children, and whose thirty-nine-year-old wife was dying of cancer – suddenly something broke in him, as it had done in Christina that morning, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. Out loud.
The Chief of Homicide, Lieutenant Frank Batiste, had come out of his cubicle to see if anything was wrong. Glitsky hadn't laughed here in the Homicide Detail in his memory. Maybe nowhere else either.
'You okay, Abe?'
Glitsky had it back under control. He raised a hand to Batiste, looked over at Christina. 'That never happens to me. I'm very sorry.' His eyes glistened with tears. The fit had gone on for nearly half a minute.
'It's okay.' Christina had lost it for a second or two herself. 'It's supposed to be good for you.'
Glitsky wiped his eyes, took in a breath, sighed. 'Whew.' Batiste went back inside his office. 'Sorry anyway,' he repeated. Then, unexpected: 'I
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