Read Online Rogue Angel 51: The Pretender's Gambit by Alex Archer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alex Archer
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handcuffs on had put them on tight and time had passed before Bart could get free of the paramedics and the investigators and arrive to release her. “I’m fine.”
Bart squinted up at her as if taking her measure. “You don’t look so good.”
“Me?” She frowned at Bart, who was sitting on the other side of his desk in the detectives’ bull pen. All around the station cops were fielding reports and filling out forms. Evidently Benyovszky’s murder and the shoot-out at the diner hadn’t been the only things going on tonight. The conversations and the constant noise distanced her from the memory of the old man lying dead in his apartment and the violence in the diner that had spilled out into the street. “You’re the one who got shot.”
In the uncertain glare of the fluorescent lighting, Bart looked pale and haggard. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and breathed shallowly. His shirttails were out and his tie hung in a coat pocket. “The vest stopped the bullets.”
“The vest doesn’t stop the impact. That’s still like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.”
Bart grinned at her ruefully. “How would you know something like that?”
Actually, Annja had experienced that same injury on occasion, as well as getting shot. Things hadn’t been dull since the sword had come into her possession. She didn’t know if the increased danger was just her lifestyle or a byproduct of having the sword.
“There was a special on the History Channel about body armor,” she replied. “You should go to the emergency room and get checked out. In addition to the bruising, the hydrostatic shock caused by the impacts could have cracked your ribs or torn muscles.”
“I’ll be fine.” Bart opened a desk drawer, took out a bottle of pain relievers and shook a couple tablets out into his hand. He swallowed them down dry and grimaced, at the taste or the pain, Annja wasn’t sure which. He put the bottle back in the desk drawer. “There’s a line at the hospital. There always is. If this is still hurting in a few hours, I’ll go in.” He took a breath gingerly and winced. “In the meantime, I’ve got a case I’m working on that just blew up big-time, and I still have no idea why people are shooting up the neighborhood over an elephant statue we can’t find.”
Annja decided not to press the issue and risk reminding Bart that she was just a civilian pushing into police business. Friendship would only carry her so far, and she knew Bart wouldn’t bend regulations any further. She massaged her wrists again. “Do you have anything on the two men who were arrested at the diner?”
“I do.” Bart stood with effort and picked up a file folder from the desktop. “Come with me.”
* * *
“H IS NAME ’ S F RANCISCO C ALAPEZ .” Bart peered through the one-way glass into the interview room at the man sitting alone at a desk.
Calapez sat in a straight-backed chair that was bolted to the floor. Other than the two chairs, one across from the other, and the table, the room offered nothing more in furnishings or accoutrements. Hands cuffed to the table in front of him, one of them sleeved in a temporary cast, Calapez looked uncomfortable and half-asleep.
Holding her arms across her chest because it made the bruises on her wrists throb less painfully, Annja peered through the one-way glass. “What’s he saying?”
Bart shook his head. “Nothing. He started yelling lawyer as soon as we sat down to talk to him. We only got a name because his prints rolled up in the system. We’re not even certain that’s his real name yet. We’re still awaiting verification on a true ID. According to the files I’ve seen, and there may be more hits coming in soon because this guy, whoever he turns out to be, has got a record in Europe that’s coming in to us in pieces.”
Annja thought about that. “What kind of history does he have?”
“Guy’s a strong-arm, probably a killer, but no one’s ever pinned that
Bart squinted up at her as if taking her measure. “You don’t look so good.”
“Me?” She frowned at Bart, who was sitting on the other side of his desk in the detectives’ bull pen. All around the station cops were fielding reports and filling out forms. Evidently Benyovszky’s murder and the shoot-out at the diner hadn’t been the only things going on tonight. The conversations and the constant noise distanced her from the memory of the old man lying dead in his apartment and the violence in the diner that had spilled out into the street. “You’re the one who got shot.”
In the uncertain glare of the fluorescent lighting, Bart looked pale and haggard. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and breathed shallowly. His shirttails were out and his tie hung in a coat pocket. “The vest stopped the bullets.”
“The vest doesn’t stop the impact. That’s still like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.”
Bart grinned at her ruefully. “How would you know something like that?”
Actually, Annja had experienced that same injury on occasion, as well as getting shot. Things hadn’t been dull since the sword had come into her possession. She didn’t know if the increased danger was just her lifestyle or a byproduct of having the sword.
“There was a special on the History Channel about body armor,” she replied. “You should go to the emergency room and get checked out. In addition to the bruising, the hydrostatic shock caused by the impacts could have cracked your ribs or torn muscles.”
“I’ll be fine.” Bart opened a desk drawer, took out a bottle of pain relievers and shook a couple tablets out into his hand. He swallowed them down dry and grimaced, at the taste or the pain, Annja wasn’t sure which. He put the bottle back in the desk drawer. “There’s a line at the hospital. There always is. If this is still hurting in a few hours, I’ll go in.” He took a breath gingerly and winced. “In the meantime, I’ve got a case I’m working on that just blew up big-time, and I still have no idea why people are shooting up the neighborhood over an elephant statue we can’t find.”
Annja decided not to press the issue and risk reminding Bart that she was just a civilian pushing into police business. Friendship would only carry her so far, and she knew Bart wouldn’t bend regulations any further. She massaged her wrists again. “Do you have anything on the two men who were arrested at the diner?”
“I do.” Bart stood with effort and picked up a file folder from the desktop. “Come with me.”
* * *
“H IS NAME ’ S F RANCISCO C ALAPEZ .” Bart peered through the one-way glass into the interview room at the man sitting alone at a desk.
Calapez sat in a straight-backed chair that was bolted to the floor. Other than the two chairs, one across from the other, and the table, the room offered nothing more in furnishings or accoutrements. Hands cuffed to the table in front of him, one of them sleeved in a temporary cast, Calapez looked uncomfortable and half-asleep.
Holding her arms across her chest because it made the bruises on her wrists throb less painfully, Annja peered through the one-way glass. “What’s he saying?”
Bart shook his head. “Nothing. He started yelling lawyer as soon as we sat down to talk to him. We only got a name because his prints rolled up in the system. We’re not even certain that’s his real name yet. We’re still awaiting verification on a true ID. According to the files I’ve seen, and there may be more hits coming in soon because this guy, whoever he turns out to be, has got a record in Europe that’s coming in to us in pieces.”
Annja thought about that. “What kind of history does he have?”
“Guy’s a strong-arm, probably a killer, but no one’s ever pinned that
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