Read Online Hell Gate by Linda Fairstein - Free Book Online Page B

Mike said. He was sitting in Dr. Pomeroy’s chair, his feet on the desk, throwing back a mouthful of M&M’s while he riffled through autopsy photos of a young man who’d been shot in the head and chest. “No need to go downstairs and lay down on a slab in the fridge, blondie.”
    “He totally jammed me up. Even had that sycophant Spindlis along for the ride, just to humiliate me even more. Battaglia didn’t want me giving anything to the mayor without his permission, but then Mercer called before I could get him alone to tell him about the conversation.”
    “Don’t get yourself in a swivet. We got work to do.”
    “I’m telling you, something’s got the boss in a horrible mood. Something bigger than today’s news. He tried to control me like a puppet. Didn’t do anything when we walked out of City Hall but berate me for holding out on him. The world is upside down when Paul Battaglia is nipping at my tail and Rowdy Kitts is trying to save face for me.”
    “Tell me you took the subway. Good for you to mingle with the people every now and then.”
    “That’s not my favorite station,” I said. I hardly needed to remind Mike about our trip together around the loop that snakes under City Hall, an incident neither of us would ever forget. “Beside that, I was totally sandbagged. Lem was waiting for me in front of the office.”
    “You ride up here in his pimp-buggy?”
    “The first ten blocks. It’s worse than that. Ethan Leighton was in the car.”
    “Talk about burying the lead. What was that about?”
    I told Mike exactly what happened. “It was creepier than I can possibly describe. So if Battaglia’s already set off at me, imagine when I tell him I actually got in the car.”
    “You take that little factoid to the grave with you. I know. We’ll tell Mercer. Sit on that piece of information for now, okay?”
    “Maybe Kelli’s right. Maybe Lem’s trying to use me for something I’d rather not be in the middle of. Where’s Dr. Pomeroy?”
    “Scrubbing down. Give him ten.”
    “And Mercer?”
    “I thought he’d beat you here. He must be close. You mind turning on the telly?”
    Pomeroy kept a small set on a high shelf in a corner of the room that he used to monitor stories of fatalities that would involve his staff.
    I reached up and pressed the power button. The TV was set to the local all-news station. The reporter was describing the still-unfolding scene on the beach in Queens, the hood of a parka pulled over his head, muffling his voice.
    Mike searched the desktop, then opened drawers till he found the remote clicker. “Almost time. Get your twenty bucks ready.”
    For as long as I had known him, Mike had a habit of tuning in to the last five minutes of Jeopardy! to bet on the final question. Although the son of a decorated police officer with a legendary reputation in the department, Mike had set out on a different track, majoring in history at Fordham College. When his father dropped dead of a heart attack just two days after retiring from the job, Mike decided to honor that legacy by following in his footsteps.
    “Any autopsy results yet?”
    “Waiting on Pomeroy. He wanted to get two done today—one of the supposed drowning victims, and the girl with the mysterious injuries. Compare and contrast the findings.” Mike switched channels and muted the commercial. “What did the mayor have to say?”
    “Nothing to me. Keenly interested in Ethan’s situation.”
    Mike saw Alex Trebek on the screen above my head and clicked on the sound. “That’s right,” Trebek said, “the category of tonight’s question is THE COLOR PURPLE. THE COLOR PURPLE, folks.”
    “I spoke too fast. Literary stuff.”
    “Double or nothing.” I had majored in English literature at Wellesley before deciding that my interest was a career in public service, and went on to study at the University of Virginia School of Law.
    “That’s taking candy from a baby, Coop,” Mike said, offering me the small brown