Read Online The Big Killing by Annette Meyers - Free Book Online

were on First Avenue. Barry leaned forward. “You can drop me at Sixty-fifth Street and take the little lady ... where did you say?”
    “Eighty-sixth and Columbus.”
    “Yeah,” Barry said vaguely. He did not offer to pay the fare. “See ya.” He’d gotten out of the cab without looking back.
    And Wetzon had not seen him again until today.
    She put her hand over her eyes. She was having a hard time keeping them open. She could feel her head drooping. She put her head on her arms on the table. She felt a hand on her shoulder, a warm hand through her suit jacket.
    “I’m sorry,” Silvestri said gently. His breath brushed her ear. “Why don’t I get one of my men to take you home, and I’ll talk with you in the morning.”
    She forced her eyes open and tried to smile at him. “Yes. No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get myself together.”
    “What’s your address?” He waved an arm and a young boy in a uniform came to the table. “This is Officer Lyons. Jimmy, I want you to take Ms. Wetzon home.” He took some keys from his inside pocket and handed them to Lyons. “You know which is mine?” Lyons nodded. “I’d like to talk with you first thing in the morning, Ms. Wetzon ... if you don’t mind. Can you come to the precinct about ten o’clock?”
    She nodded as he handed her his card, which, preoccupied, she placed in the pocket of her suit. She didn’t want to go home yet. She wanted to see Smith, had to talk to Smith about what had happened. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like to go to my friend’s apartment instead.”
    “Okay, Jimmy will take you there. Just write down that address and phone number for me, and yours at home, too,” Silvestri said, “in case I have to reach you before tomorrow.” He handed her his small notebook and stood up to talk to the baby faced Lyons and Metzger of the eye pouches.
    Wetzon looked at the page in his notebook. His handwriting was atrocious, like chicken scratches. Carefully, she printed her address and phone number on the page and then Smith’s address and number. She felt as rumpled as they all looked. And tired. Her face was clammy. She stood up clutching her handbag, legs unsteady, and pushed the chair back. Yellow dots danced on her eyes. Shouldn’t have had the vodka on an empty stomach. She put her fingers on the edge of the table and took a deep breath. She smoothed her skirt and straightened the jacket of her suit. It was warm, very warm, uncomfortably warm.
    Then she saw the attaché case. Oh, lord , she thought. “Sergeant Silvestri,” she said, but he was already a distance from her and didn’t hear her call. Noise came from every section of the restaurant. There were blue uniforms everywhere and a lot of people who looked like detectives. There were still some customers being interviewed on the balcony and in the Grill Room.
    “It’s okay, miss,” Jimmy Lyons said, taking her arm. He didn’t look old enough to shave, let alone be a policeman. She thought about telling him so, but her voice faltered. “Here, let me take your case for you.” Lyons picked up the attaché case and she found herself propelled down the stairs from the balcony, across the floor of the Grill Room, stared at by men from another world who didn’t seem to fit into the elegance of the space, past employees of the Four Seasons, still serving food and drink. She thought she caught a glimpse of Martin, but the pressure on her arm was solid and supportive, and Jimmy was keeping her moving.
    They were coming down the stairs now, to the lobby, where, try as she might to look away, her eyes went straight toward the phone area, which, oddly, was almost deserted. She couldn’t help wondering what would happen to Barry’s body. Who would notify his family? Did he have any family? Everyone had some sort of family. They were going out the door and onto the street now. A rush of cool air. It was dark. She’d lost track of the time. A flash