Read Online Manhattan Is My Beat by Jeffery Deaver - Free Book Online Page B

Set it down on the paper. “What exactly do you want?” he asked. It wasn’t a dismissal; he seemed just curious. His voice was formal and soft.
    “Did you know he’d rented that movie that was in his VCR eighteen times in one month?”
    “So?”
    “Doesn’t that seem odd?”
    “I seen people jump off the Brooklyn Bridge because they think their cat’s possessed by Satan. Nothing seems odd to me.”
    “But the movie he rented … get this. It was about a true crime. Some robbers stole a million dollars and the money was never found.”
    “When?” he asked, frowning. “I never heard about that.”
    “It was, like, fifty years ago.”
    Now Manelli got to roll his eyes.
    She leaned forward, said enthusiastically, “But it’s a mystery! Don’t mysteries excite you?”
    “No.
Solving
mysteries excites me.”
    “Well, this’s one that oughta be solved.”
    “And it will be. In due time. I gotta get back to work.”
    “What about the other witness?” Rune asked. “Susan Edelman? The one who got hit by the car.”
    “She’s still in the hospital.”
    “Has she told you anything?”
    “We haven’t interviewed her yet. Now, I really have to—”
    Rune asked, “What’ll happen with Mr. Kelly’s body?”
    “He doesn’t seem to have any living relatives. His sister died a couple of years ago. There’s a friend in the building? Amanda LeClerc? She put in a claim for permission to dispose of the body. We’ll keep it in the M.E.’s office until that’s approved. So. That’s all I can tell you. Now, you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”
    Rune, feeling an odd mixture of anger and sorrow, stood and walked to the door. The detective said, “Miss?” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “You saw what happened to Mr. Kelly. You saw what happened to Ms. Edelman. Whatever you feel, I understand. But don’t try to help us out. That’s a real bastard out there. This isn’t the movies. People get hurt.”
    Rune said, “Just answer one question. Please, just one?”
    Silence in the small office. From outside: the noise of computer printers, typewriters, voices from the offices around them. Rune asked, “What if Mr. Kelly was a rich banker? Would you still not give a shit?”
    Manelli didn’t move for a moment. Glanced at the muffin. Didn’t say anything. Rune thought: He thinks I’m a pain in the ass. He sort of likes me but I’m still a pain in the ass.
    He said, “If he was from the Upper East Side? He was a partner in a big law firm? Then I wouldn’t be handling the case. But if I was, the file’d still be seventh in my stack.”
    Rune nodded at his desk. “Take a look. It’s on the top now.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    She’d called Amanda LeClerc but the woman wasn’t home to let her into Mr. Kelly’s building.
    So she had to do it the old-fashioned way. The way Detective Manelli unknowingly suggested.
    Breaking and entering.
    At the bodega up the street from Mr. Kelly’s building she told the clerk, “Two boxes of diapers, please. Put them in two bags.”
    And paid twenty bucks for one pair of Playtex rubber gloves and two huge boxes of disposable diapers.
    “
Muchos niños?
“ the lady asked.
    Rune took the bulgins bags and said, “
S
í. The Pope, you know?”
    The clerk, not much older than Rune, nodded sympathetically.
    She walked out of the bodega toward Avenue B. It was already fiercely hot and a ripe, garbagey smell came from the streets. She passed an art gallery. In the window were wild canvases, violent red and black slashes of paint. She smelled steamed meat as she passed a Ukrainian restaurant. In front of a Korean deli was a sign: HOT FOOD $1.50/QTR LB.
    Alphabetville …
    At Kelly’s building Rune climbed the concrete stairs to the lobby. Remembering the man’s voice from the intercom. Who was it? She shivered as she stared at the webby speaker.
    She tried Amanda once again but there was no answer, so she looked around. Outside there was only one person on