Read Online San Francisco Night by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Leather
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smiled at her. “Amy Chen?” he said.
She frowned and her hand tensed. “Now how would you know that?”
“Because I don’t now anyone in this city. Because you look like a cop. And because I was told that a Chinese detective was investigating the disappearance of Michael O’Hara. Father Mike. I figure Ms Winthrop told you I’d been to see her.”
She nodded slowly. “Nice deduction,” she said. “Inspector Amy Chen. SFPD. Can I come in?”
“I’m not really geared up for guests,” he said. “But I’m more than happy to help San Francisco’s finest.” He held open the door. “I didn’t tell Ms Winthrop where I was staying, though.”
“No, but they took down the number of your car and you gave the hotel desk the registration number when you checked in.”
Nightingale closed the door and he waved her over to one chair in the room, by the dressing table. She sat down and adjusted her jacket. There was a holstered Glock on her hip. She stared at him for several seconds. “Do you have some ID you can show me?”
“Sure,” he said, taking out his wallet. He handed her a California driver’s license. It was one of the many forms of ID that Wainwright had given him and Nightingale had been assured it would stand up to any scrutiny. Inspector Chen studied it and then gave it back.
“And why are you in San Francisco?”
“I’m a journalist. Freelance. I’m putting together a story on missing persons.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re English?”
Nightingale nodded.
“With a California driver’s licence?”
“I’m here a lot. The States, I mean. Not San Francisco.”
“Green card?”
“No. Can I ask you a question?”
“That’s not normally how it works.”
Nightingale smiled. “I know. I just wondered why you’re here.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
Nightingale looked into her eyes. But like policemen the world over, Amy Chen’s eyes gave nothing away. He smiled. “The Bible.”
“Got it in one,” said Chen. “So you admit stealing it?”
“I borrowed it,” said Nightingale. He stood up. As he moved, the detective’s hand shifted towards the butt of her Glock. Nightingale raised his hands. “I’m just going to get it from the drawer.”
“Why don’t you sit back down and I’ll get it,” said Chen. Nightingale did as he was told. The detective went over to the bedside table, opened the drawer and took out the Bible. As she bent down he saw a can of mace in a holster on the opposite hip to where the gun was. She went back to the dressing table but didn’t sit down. “Do you want to tell me why you stole it?”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. I had every intention of returning it.”
“You still haven’t told me why.”
“I wanted some background. Father Mike spent a lot of time with his Bible. He made notes in it.” He shrugged. “I thought the notes would be helpful.”
“Were they?”
“Not really.”
Chen looked at him without speaking. It was a cop’s trick, he knew. Leave a long silence and eventually the suspect would say something, anything, to break it.
“What are you thinking, Inspector Chen? Are you thinking that I’m the killer and wanted a souvenir?”
“Who said anything about a killing?” said Chen, quickly.
“Killing. Kidnapping. What’s the difference?”
“At the moment Father Mike is just a missing person. Or do you know something the SFPD don’t?”
“He’s been missing for a while. Most missing people turn up within a few days.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about detective work.”
“I watch a lot of TV. Big fan of Law And Order.”
“And what got you started on Father Mike’s case?”
“I’m looking at unusual cases. And he’s unusual, that’s for sure.”
“What are the other cases you’re looking at?”
Nightingale reached into his raincoat pocket and took out the printed sheets that Wainwright had given him - Sister Rosa, Suzanne Mills and Father
She frowned and her hand tensed. “Now how would you know that?”
“Because I don’t now anyone in this city. Because you look like a cop. And because I was told that a Chinese detective was investigating the disappearance of Michael O’Hara. Father Mike. I figure Ms Winthrop told you I’d been to see her.”
She nodded slowly. “Nice deduction,” she said. “Inspector Amy Chen. SFPD. Can I come in?”
“I’m not really geared up for guests,” he said. “But I’m more than happy to help San Francisco’s finest.” He held open the door. “I didn’t tell Ms Winthrop where I was staying, though.”
“No, but they took down the number of your car and you gave the hotel desk the registration number when you checked in.”
Nightingale closed the door and he waved her over to one chair in the room, by the dressing table. She sat down and adjusted her jacket. There was a holstered Glock on her hip. She stared at him for several seconds. “Do you have some ID you can show me?”
“Sure,” he said, taking out his wallet. He handed her a California driver’s license. It was one of the many forms of ID that Wainwright had given him and Nightingale had been assured it would stand up to any scrutiny. Inspector Chen studied it and then gave it back.
“And why are you in San Francisco?”
“I’m a journalist. Freelance. I’m putting together a story on missing persons.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re English?”
Nightingale nodded.
“With a California driver’s licence?”
“I’m here a lot. The States, I mean. Not San Francisco.”
“Green card?”
“No. Can I ask you a question?”
“That’s not normally how it works.”
Nightingale smiled. “I know. I just wondered why you’re here.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
Nightingale looked into her eyes. But like policemen the world over, Amy Chen’s eyes gave nothing away. He smiled. “The Bible.”
“Got it in one,” said Chen. “So you admit stealing it?”
“I borrowed it,” said Nightingale. He stood up. As he moved, the detective’s hand shifted towards the butt of her Glock. Nightingale raised his hands. “I’m just going to get it from the drawer.”
“Why don’t you sit back down and I’ll get it,” said Chen. Nightingale did as he was told. The detective went over to the bedside table, opened the drawer and took out the Bible. As she bent down he saw a can of mace in a holster on the opposite hip to where the gun was. She went back to the dressing table but didn’t sit down. “Do you want to tell me why you stole it?”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. I had every intention of returning it.”
“You still haven’t told me why.”
“I wanted some background. Father Mike spent a lot of time with his Bible. He made notes in it.” He shrugged. “I thought the notes would be helpful.”
“Were they?”
“Not really.”
Chen looked at him without speaking. It was a cop’s trick, he knew. Leave a long silence and eventually the suspect would say something, anything, to break it.
“What are you thinking, Inspector Chen? Are you thinking that I’m the killer and wanted a souvenir?”
“Who said anything about a killing?” said Chen, quickly.
“Killing. Kidnapping. What’s the difference?”
“At the moment Father Mike is just a missing person. Or do you know something the SFPD don’t?”
“He’s been missing for a while. Most missing people turn up within a few days.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about detective work.”
“I watch a lot of TV. Big fan of Law And Order.”
“And what got you started on Father Mike’s case?”
“I’m looking at unusual cases. And he’s unusual, that’s for sure.”
“What are the other cases you’re looking at?”
Nightingale reached into his raincoat pocket and took out the printed sheets that Wainwright had given him - Sister Rosa, Suzanne Mills and Father
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