Read Online Konrath, Joe - Dirty Martini by J.A. Konrath - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.A. Konrath
Ads: Link
life.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll be done in three years, tops.”
I let him get to work, then pulled the pen from behind my ear and took out the notepad I’d been carrying in my waistband. So far the To Do list read:
trace M44 purchases
Alger—arrest record
talk to neighbors
question mailman who delivered letter
security tapes at BT scenes
witness search at BT scenes
survivor interviews/background checks
research IEDs
I scratched off
talk to neighbors.
Three teams had done extensive door-to-doors, and no one in the area had noticed anything unusual at Jason Alger’s house. In fact, some of the neighbors didn’t recognize Alger at all. I lamented how things had changed since I joined the force. Twenty years ago, people knew everyone on their block. These days, folks kept to themselves.
Maybe they were concerned some maniac might chop off their fingers and turn their house into a chamber of horrors.
I circled
Alger—arrest record
. There was a chance Alger had simply been a target of opportunity. But a plan this meticulous made me think that someone had a major beef against the former cop. I added
IA
after his name and decided it was time to get home to shower, change, and see what was going on with Latham.
The trip to Bensenville took almost an hour. Once I exited the expressway I fell in behind an ambulance, its sirens going full tilt. I hugged its bumper. Ambulances, fire trucks, and patrol cops had remote control devices called MIRTs—mobile infrared transmitters—used to change red lights into green ones. Being part of Detective Division, I didn’t warrant the five-hundred-dollar gizmo, but following an ambulance worked just as well.
Luckily, the meat wagon appeared to be taking the same route I was. Hitting all of these greens, I might even get to the house in record time.
I considered what I’d tell Latham when I saw him. What was I afraid of? Trust? Commitment? Family? My living situation changing? Losing my independence? Love?
I didn’t know. I was obviously afraid of something, but couldn’t figure out what it was.
And then, abruptly, I decided that I didn’t care what I was afraid of. I could fight the fear. I didn’t feel brave, but I was damn good at faking it.
I would marry Latham.
I noticed I was still following the ambulance, which was a little creepy, considering I was almost home.
When it headed down my street, I felt downright paranoid.
And when it pulled into my driveway, I went from paranoid to panicked.
I threw the car into park and rushed onto the lawn. Two paramedics were approaching my front door.
“I’m a cop. This is my house. What’s going on?”
“Had a call from this house a few minutes ago. Man complaining of abdominal pain, vomiting, and some paralysis.”
Botulism. Those were symptoms of botulism toxin.
“It might be . . . it might be botulism. Do you have antitoxin?”
“Not in our kits.”
I fumbled for my keys, trying to open the dead bolt, wondering how the Chemist could have found me so quickly. People close to me are always getting hurt. If Latham died because—
“Ma’am, can I try?”
One of the medics took my key and guided it into the lock. I flung the door open and rushed into the house.
“Latham! Latham!”
No one in the living room. In the kitchen, the table still set for a romantic celebration dinner that never happened, the bedroom empty, the bathroom—
“Latham! Oh my God . . .”
The man I loved was on his back, his shirt crusted with vomit, a portable phone still in his hand. It didn’t look like his chest was moving. His face—his face was blue.
“Move out of the way, ma’am.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was seeing. The paramedics shoved me aside and knelt next to him. The next few seconds were a blur of words and actions.
“. . . cyanotic.”
“. . . pulse is weak.”
“. . . airway clear.”
“. . . BVM.”
They placed the mask over Latham’s mouth and nose and pressed the
“Don’t be silly. You’ll be done in three years, tops.”
I let him get to work, then pulled the pen from behind my ear and took out the notepad I’d been carrying in my waistband. So far the To Do list read:
trace M44 purchases
Alger—arrest record
talk to neighbors
question mailman who delivered letter
security tapes at BT scenes
witness search at BT scenes
survivor interviews/background checks
research IEDs
I scratched off
talk to neighbors.
Three teams had done extensive door-to-doors, and no one in the area had noticed anything unusual at Jason Alger’s house. In fact, some of the neighbors didn’t recognize Alger at all. I lamented how things had changed since I joined the force. Twenty years ago, people knew everyone on their block. These days, folks kept to themselves.
Maybe they were concerned some maniac might chop off their fingers and turn their house into a chamber of horrors.
I circled
Alger—arrest record
. There was a chance Alger had simply been a target of opportunity. But a plan this meticulous made me think that someone had a major beef against the former cop. I added
IA
after his name and decided it was time to get home to shower, change, and see what was going on with Latham.
The trip to Bensenville took almost an hour. Once I exited the expressway I fell in behind an ambulance, its sirens going full tilt. I hugged its bumper. Ambulances, fire trucks, and patrol cops had remote control devices called MIRTs—mobile infrared transmitters—used to change red lights into green ones. Being part of Detective Division, I didn’t warrant the five-hundred-dollar gizmo, but following an ambulance worked just as well.
Luckily, the meat wagon appeared to be taking the same route I was. Hitting all of these greens, I might even get to the house in record time.
I considered what I’d tell Latham when I saw him. What was I afraid of? Trust? Commitment? Family? My living situation changing? Losing my independence? Love?
I didn’t know. I was obviously afraid of something, but couldn’t figure out what it was.
And then, abruptly, I decided that I didn’t care what I was afraid of. I could fight the fear. I didn’t feel brave, but I was damn good at faking it.
I would marry Latham.
I noticed I was still following the ambulance, which was a little creepy, considering I was almost home.
When it headed down my street, I felt downright paranoid.
And when it pulled into my driveway, I went from paranoid to panicked.
I threw the car into park and rushed onto the lawn. Two paramedics were approaching my front door.
“I’m a cop. This is my house. What’s going on?”
“Had a call from this house a few minutes ago. Man complaining of abdominal pain, vomiting, and some paralysis.”
Botulism. Those were symptoms of botulism toxin.
“It might be . . . it might be botulism. Do you have antitoxin?”
“Not in our kits.”
I fumbled for my keys, trying to open the dead bolt, wondering how the Chemist could have found me so quickly. People close to me are always getting hurt. If Latham died because—
“Ma’am, can I try?”
One of the medics took my key and guided it into the lock. I flung the door open and rushed into the house.
“Latham! Latham!”
No one in the living room. In the kitchen, the table still set for a romantic celebration dinner that never happened, the bedroom empty, the bathroom—
“Latham! Oh my God . . .”
The man I loved was on his back, his shirt crusted with vomit, a portable phone still in his hand. It didn’t look like his chest was moving. His face—his face was blue.
“Move out of the way, ma’am.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around what I was seeing. The paramedics shoved me aside and knelt next to him. The next few seconds were a blur of words and actions.
“. . . cyanotic.”
“. . . pulse is weak.”
“. . . airway clear.”
“. . . BVM.”
They placed the mask over Latham’s mouth and nose and pressed the
Similar Books
