Read Online The Judas Child by Carol O'Connell - Free Book Online
Authors: Carol O'Connell
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proffered card from the boy’s hand, and while the cop searched his pockets for a pen to sign it, David melded into the crisscrossing patterns of uniformed officers, BCI investigators and feds. The child disappeared so quietly the cop had not yet noticed. His head was bent over the card as he signed his autograph for the ten-year-old fan.
Costello winced. The new trainee had blown it.
Rouge Kendall looked up to see the empty space where David had been standing.
Too late now. The captain opened his office door. “In here, Kendall.”
The policeman entered the office with no sense of fear that Costello could immediately detect. But then, this was the first time he had been alone with the younger man. In the past four years, Kendall’s undistinguished career in a one-car town had made him invisible to the New York State Police. If not for the open file on his desk, Costello would have known nothing about him.
Though the captain had only moved to this state ten years ago, every county resident knew the name of child killer Paul Marie. The victim, Susan Kendall, had become less famous over time, and her sibling was totally anonymous. Until last night, when Costello had called for the background material, he never made the connection between this ordinary village cop and a formerly powerful publishing family.
As Rouge Kendall sat down in the chair by his desk, Captain Costello had an uneasy feeling. He was looking at a perfect specimen of youth, only twenty-five years old, yet bearing the calm demeanor of a more mature man and the weary eyes of a very old soul. Perhaps damage could account for that, and a murdered sister was a lot of damage. Certainly nothing else about this officer was outstanding. The captain had already decided that Rouge Kendall did not belong with the State Police—not as an investigator, and not even as a trooper.
Costello turned his attention to the hastily assembled file on his desk, too thick for such a mediocre cop. “This is all about you, kid.” He tapped the folder. “The Internal Affairs idiots see you paying property taxes on a fifteen-room mansion, and sirens go off in their pointy heads. They don’t know that even the white trash in this town have nice houses. So one of them ran a check on your source of income, and now he thinks a Manhattan auction house is fencing your stolen goods.”
Costello crumpled these papers into a ball. “We transfer all the shooflies to IA. Keeps them from playing with their guns and shooting themselves in the foot.” He separated out the bulk of the file and pushed it to one side. “I know you were born in that house. I guess you’ve been selling off heirlooms to make the taxes and upkeep?”
Rouge Kendall nodded.
“So we throw out the IA crap—except for this.” He held up two sheets of paper. “They took a statement from your bartender at Dame’s Tavern. And that’s how I happen to know you drink too much, and you drink alone.”
No response. Evidently the new recruit didn’t mind that his captain thought he was a lush. Or maybe this statement was also crap. Costello put it in the bogus pile at the edge of his desk.
“Now what’s left, Kendall? For the rest of your life, I only need one page, maybe half a page. When you were a kid, you washed out of a military academy after less than four months. You played ball in prep school, and the Yankees won you in a first-round draft. Instead, you went on to Princeton University and quit school at nineteen. You went back to the Yankees and signed for a hefty bonus. Again, you washed out. One of the coaches on the rookie league remembered you. The guy said you had the talent, but you never had any heart for the game. You blew every chance to dazzle the managers and never made the cut. Your coach wondered why you even gave it a shot.”
And now Costello leaned back in his chair and waited, but Rouge Kendall did not rush in to fill the silence with excuses and explanations.
The captain made his
Costello winced. The new trainee had blown it.
Rouge Kendall looked up to see the empty space where David had been standing.
Too late now. The captain opened his office door. “In here, Kendall.”
The policeman entered the office with no sense of fear that Costello could immediately detect. But then, this was the first time he had been alone with the younger man. In the past four years, Kendall’s undistinguished career in a one-car town had made him invisible to the New York State Police. If not for the open file on his desk, Costello would have known nothing about him.
Though the captain had only moved to this state ten years ago, every county resident knew the name of child killer Paul Marie. The victim, Susan Kendall, had become less famous over time, and her sibling was totally anonymous. Until last night, when Costello had called for the background material, he never made the connection between this ordinary village cop and a formerly powerful publishing family.
As Rouge Kendall sat down in the chair by his desk, Captain Costello had an uneasy feeling. He was looking at a perfect specimen of youth, only twenty-five years old, yet bearing the calm demeanor of a more mature man and the weary eyes of a very old soul. Perhaps damage could account for that, and a murdered sister was a lot of damage. Certainly nothing else about this officer was outstanding. The captain had already decided that Rouge Kendall did not belong with the State Police—not as an investigator, and not even as a trooper.
Costello turned his attention to the hastily assembled file on his desk, too thick for such a mediocre cop. “This is all about you, kid.” He tapped the folder. “The Internal Affairs idiots see you paying property taxes on a fifteen-room mansion, and sirens go off in their pointy heads. They don’t know that even the white trash in this town have nice houses. So one of them ran a check on your source of income, and now he thinks a Manhattan auction house is fencing your stolen goods.”
Costello crumpled these papers into a ball. “We transfer all the shooflies to IA. Keeps them from playing with their guns and shooting themselves in the foot.” He separated out the bulk of the file and pushed it to one side. “I know you were born in that house. I guess you’ve been selling off heirlooms to make the taxes and upkeep?”
Rouge Kendall nodded.
“So we throw out the IA crap—except for this.” He held up two sheets of paper. “They took a statement from your bartender at Dame’s Tavern. And that’s how I happen to know you drink too much, and you drink alone.”
No response. Evidently the new recruit didn’t mind that his captain thought he was a lush. Or maybe this statement was also crap. Costello put it in the bogus pile at the edge of his desk.
“Now what’s left, Kendall? For the rest of your life, I only need one page, maybe half a page. When you were a kid, you washed out of a military academy after less than four months. You played ball in prep school, and the Yankees won you in a first-round draft. Instead, you went on to Princeton University and quit school at nineteen. You went back to the Yankees and signed for a hefty bonus. Again, you washed out. One of the coaches on the rookie league remembered you. The guy said you had the talent, but you never had any heart for the game. You blew every chance to dazzle the managers and never made the cut. Your coach wondered why you even gave it a shot.”
And now Costello leaned back in his chair and waited, but Rouge Kendall did not rush in to fill the silence with excuses and explanations.
The captain made his
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