Read Online Hell Gate by Linda Fairstein - Free Book Online

intriguing to the higher-ups than the mass disaster in Queens—that moved me to accept his ride up to Thirtieth Street and the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.
    I pushed through the revolving door, went up to my office to grab the last batch of messages Laura had stacked on my desk, and took a new Redweld with colored folders—blue for the autopsy notes, red for witness interviews, green for the first day’s pile of DD5s—the Detective Division reports of the shipwreck that would grow to overwhelm us within a week’s time.
    When I got back downstairs, Lem was leaning against the limo, talking into his cell, the collar of his trim black overcoat turned up against the wind. I walked toward him and he opened the door so that I could slide across the backseat.
    He got in beside me and before he slammed the door and the driver stepped on the gas, despite the dark tinted windows and the dim lighting in the overhead panel, I could see there was someone sitting across from me.
    “I think you two have met before,” Lem said.
    Ethan Leighton leaned forward out of the shadowy corner. “Hello, Alex.”
    “You taught me well, Lem. But never dirty tricks,” I snapped, trying to keep my temper under control. “Be honorable, you used to say. All you’ve got to trade on is your reputation.”
    “I asked him to do this,” Ethan said. “It wasn’t Lem’s idea.”
    Leighton’s face was lined, his eyes were bloodshot, and his voice quavered. It was completely inappropriate for us to be meeting in secret, given the circumstances, yet I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. I had met him years before when I was cross-designated on a sexual assault investigation that the feds were conducting at a Veterans Administration hospital. He was handsome in a nontraditional way—a prominent, slightly crooked nose, wavy brown hair that was thinning on top, and green eyes set a bit too close, but when he smiled the whole package presented attractively. He wasn’t smiling tonight.
    “I don’t care whose idea it was. It’s lousy.”
    “Look, I used to be a prosecutor. I understand how you feel.” Tonight, in the dim lighting of the limo, Leighton’s eyes resembled the beady stare of an animal in the sights of a predator. The long, bony fingers of his hands twisted and then untangled from each other, knuckles cracking as he tried to find the words to calm me.
    “My least favorite introduction. ‘I used to be . . .’ ” Every new defense attorney opened with the lame attempt at bonding by claiming former prosecutorial understanding.
    “Don’t throw a scene and storm out of the car,” Lem said.
    “I’m actually too tired to do that. Too tired and too disappointed in you.”
    “Sit back, Ethan. Listen to me, Alex.” Lem eased himself forward to try to get me to look at him while he talked. “Ethan was in the holding pens while I was in your office. He wasn’t arraigned for another hour after that. Then I did my little dog-and-pony show on the courthouse steps. Already one of the detectives has called to accuse us of threatening Salma. I swear to you, Ethan hasn’t left my sight.”
    There was no point arguing with Lem. Mercer hadn’t yet heard a translation of Salma’s 911 call. The threat she reported could just have easily been phoned in from 100 Centre Street.
    I leaned my head against the padded headrest. “What are you guys setting me up for?”
    “It’s nothing like that, Alex. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I have nothing but respect for you, professionally. Donny Baynes says you’re reasonable and measured. He suggested—”
    Lem held his hand up to stop Ethan’s sudden flow of information. The congressman dug his front teeth into his lower lip, almost deep enough to draw blood, as though it was the only way to stop himself from spilling his guts.
    “When did you talk to Donny?” I asked.
    Had Baynes been playing dumb when Mercer told him about the car crash this morning? Or if