Read Online The Devil's Teardrop by Jeffery Deaver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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would be a good thing for me to see him. So—do you want me to call Jennifer? Or Mrs. Cavanaugh?”
“Mrs. Cavanaugh!” they’d said, almost in unison, Robby coming out of his dolor. Mrs. Cavanaugh, the neighborhood grandmother, baby-sat on Tuesdays—when Parker sat in on a local poker game.
Parker had stood up, surrounded by the sea of toys.
“But you’ll be back before midnight,” Robby’d asked, “won’t you?”
(“Never make promises if there’s any chance you can’t keep them.”)
“I’m going to try as hard as I can.”
Parker had hugged both of the children and then walked to the door.
“Daddy?” Stephie had asked, pure innocence in her baggy black jeans and Hello Kitty T-shirt. “Would your friend like me to make him a get-well card?”
Parker had felt his betrayal as a physical blow. “That’s okay, honey. I think he’d like it better if you just had fun tonight.”
Now, intruding on these difficult thoughts, the door to the document lab swung open. A lean, handsome agent with swept-back blond hair walked into the room. “JerryBaker,” he announced, walking up to Parker. “You’re Parker Kincaid.”
They shook hands.
He looked across the lab. “Margaret,” he called in greeting. Lukas nodded back.
“You’re the tactical expert?” Parker asked him.
“Right.”
Lukas said, “Jerry’s got some S&S people lined up.”
Search and Surveillance, Parker recalled.
“Some good shooters too,” Baker said. “Just dying for a chance to light up this beast.”
Parker sat down in the gray chair. He said to Lukas, “You’ve processed the unsub’s body?”
“Yes,” Lukas said.
“Do you have the inventory?”
“Not yet.”
“No?” Parker was troubled. He had very definite ideas of running investigations and he could see Lukas would have definite ideas too. He wondered how much of a problem he’d have with her. Handle it delicately or not? Glancing at her tough face—pale as pale marble—Parker decided he had no time for niceties. In a case with so few leads they needed as many K’s—known aspects of the unsub—as they could find. “We better get it,” he said.
She responded coolly, “I’ve ordered it sent up here ASAP.”
Parker would have sent somebody—Hardy maybe—to pick it up. But he decided not to fight this skirmish. He’d give it another few minutes. He looked at Baker. “How many good guys do we have?”
“Thirty-six of ours, four dozen District P.D.”
Parker frowned. “We’ll need more than that.”
“That’s a problem,” Cage said. “Most actives are on alert because of the holiday. There’re a couple hundred thousand people in town. And a lot of Treasury and Justice agents’re on security detail, what with all the diplomatic and government parties.”
Len Hardy muttered, “Too bad this happened tonight.”
Parker gave a short laugh. “It wouldn’t have happened at any other time.”
The young detective gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
He was about to answer but Lukas said, “The unsub picked tonight because he knew we’d be shorthanded.”
“And because of the crowds in town,” Parker added. “The shooter’s got himself a fucking firing range. He . . .”
He paused, listening to himself. He didn’t like what he heard. Living with the children, working largely alone, he’d softened since he’d left the Bureau; the rough edges were gone. He never swore and he tempered everything he said with the Whos in mind. Now he found himself back in his former life, his hard life. As a linguist, Parker knew that the first thing an outsider does to adapt to a new group is to talk their talk.
Parker opened his attaché case—a portable document examination kit. It was filled with the tools of his trade. Also, it seemed, a Darth Vader action figure. A present from Robby.
“‘The Force be with you,’” Cage said. “Our mascot for the night. My grandkids love those movies.”
Parker propped it up on
“Mrs. Cavanaugh!” they’d said, almost in unison, Robby coming out of his dolor. Mrs. Cavanaugh, the neighborhood grandmother, baby-sat on Tuesdays—when Parker sat in on a local poker game.
Parker had stood up, surrounded by the sea of toys.
“But you’ll be back before midnight,” Robby’d asked, “won’t you?”
(“Never make promises if there’s any chance you can’t keep them.”)
“I’m going to try as hard as I can.”
Parker had hugged both of the children and then walked to the door.
“Daddy?” Stephie had asked, pure innocence in her baggy black jeans and Hello Kitty T-shirt. “Would your friend like me to make him a get-well card?”
Parker had felt his betrayal as a physical blow. “That’s okay, honey. I think he’d like it better if you just had fun tonight.”
Now, intruding on these difficult thoughts, the door to the document lab swung open. A lean, handsome agent with swept-back blond hair walked into the room. “JerryBaker,” he announced, walking up to Parker. “You’re Parker Kincaid.”
They shook hands.
He looked across the lab. “Margaret,” he called in greeting. Lukas nodded back.
“You’re the tactical expert?” Parker asked him.
“Right.”
Lukas said, “Jerry’s got some S&S people lined up.”
Search and Surveillance, Parker recalled.
“Some good shooters too,” Baker said. “Just dying for a chance to light up this beast.”
Parker sat down in the gray chair. He said to Lukas, “You’ve processed the unsub’s body?”
“Yes,” Lukas said.
“Do you have the inventory?”
“Not yet.”
“No?” Parker was troubled. He had very definite ideas of running investigations and he could see Lukas would have definite ideas too. He wondered how much of a problem he’d have with her. Handle it delicately or not? Glancing at her tough face—pale as pale marble—Parker decided he had no time for niceties. In a case with so few leads they needed as many K’s—known aspects of the unsub—as they could find. “We better get it,” he said.
She responded coolly, “I’ve ordered it sent up here ASAP.”
Parker would have sent somebody—Hardy maybe—to pick it up. But he decided not to fight this skirmish. He’d give it another few minutes. He looked at Baker. “How many good guys do we have?”
“Thirty-six of ours, four dozen District P.D.”
Parker frowned. “We’ll need more than that.”
“That’s a problem,” Cage said. “Most actives are on alert because of the holiday. There’re a couple hundred thousand people in town. And a lot of Treasury and Justice agents’re on security detail, what with all the diplomatic and government parties.”
Len Hardy muttered, “Too bad this happened tonight.”
Parker gave a short laugh. “It wouldn’t have happened at any other time.”
The young detective gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
He was about to answer but Lukas said, “The unsub picked tonight because he knew we’d be shorthanded.”
“And because of the crowds in town,” Parker added. “The shooter’s got himself a fucking firing range. He . . .”
He paused, listening to himself. He didn’t like what he heard. Living with the children, working largely alone, he’d softened since he’d left the Bureau; the rough edges were gone. He never swore and he tempered everything he said with the Whos in mind. Now he found himself back in his former life, his hard life. As a linguist, Parker knew that the first thing an outsider does to adapt to a new group is to talk their talk.
Parker opened his attaché case—a portable document examination kit. It was filled with the tools of his trade. Also, it seemed, a Darth Vader action figure. A present from Robby.
“‘The Force be with you,’” Cage said. “Our mascot for the night. My grandkids love those movies.”
Parker propped it up on
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