Blood on the Sun (CSI: NY) Read Online Free PDF Page B

philosophy than others he had seen graduate before him.
    The sun had been up for a few hours. Kyle looked back in the general direction of Queens, back on what was lost forever. He had gone back to his one-room apartment on 101st, packed one large bag, and stopped for gas when he hit New Jersey, using his Visa card as payment.
    He drove slowly. Cars, trucks passed him. He saw it all. Was it just hours ago? A dream? No dream. Becky, her mother, her father, dead. The knife. The knife sat on the seat next to him wrapped in paper towels. He hadn’t decided what to do with it.
    Just before three in the morning on the night before, in drenching heat and darkness, he had driven a mile, no more, saw the dirt path he was looking for in the wooded area next to the road, and turned onto it. After going a few feet, sure he couldn’t be spotted from the road, he had parked, turned off his lights, got out of the car and with the flashlight from his glove compartment in hand, entered the thicket. He found what he was looking for, a clearing. He decided it would do and went back to the truck to get what he had placed in the back and covered with his stained canvas tarp.
    No more than five minutes later, Kyle Shelton had stood in the darkness, looking at the bicycle on its side, front wheel bent. He had been through the wooded area. Signs of the boy—bloody shirt and pants, socks and even Nike sneakers—were spread out.
    Kyle imagined the boy racing through the trees and bushes naked, wearing only his glasses, looking over his shoulder. He thought of the Truffaut movie The Wild Child, the supposedly true story of a boy who had lived all his life naked among the animals in a forest. Henri Poincare’s words came to Kyle: “It is better to foresee, even without certainty, than not to foresee at all.”
    It hadn’t been much of a plan, thought out at a moment’s notice, full of holes. It might work. Probably not.
    Kyle Shelton knew about fingerprints, DNA, blood samples. He didn’t know much, but he knew enough. He wasn’t safe.
    There had been a half moon and some light from passing cars beyond the bushes. He imagined the boy, shivering, not from the night cold but from fear and horror, imagined that he had taken off all his clothes but not his glasses. Shelton got back in his pickup, backed off the dirt path to the road and headed for the bridge, headed for his small room. The running had begun.
     
    “Mrs. Glick?” Stella said, approaching the woman in the crowd.
    Both children at her side were boys with yarmulkes and locks of hair hanging down in front of their ears.
    Yosele Glick looked up at Stella. Her eyes were bright, wary, a deep brown. She was fair-skinned, pretty, no more than thirty years old. At her side stood a mountain of a man in black with a massive girth, rimless glasses perched on his nose. His beard was full, dark and curly.
    The small crowd of men, women and children moved close to Stella and Aiden to hear what was being said.
    “Can we go somewhere quiet where we can talk?” asked Stella.
    Yosele looked at the massive man at her side who said, “Timken’s.”
    “You are?” asked Aiden.
    “Hyam Yussel Glick,” the man said. “Asher was my brother. You are detectives?”
    “Crime scene investigators,” said Stella.
    “They had no men to send?” said Glick.
    “They’re working other cases,” said Stella. “Timken’s?”
    The man led the way across the street, and traffic stopped. Glick held up a hand to signal to the crowd that he should not be followed. A lean old man hurried out of the crowd ahead of them.
    Timken’s was a modest storefront kosher restaurant with the name written in Hebrew and English.
    The old man who had broken away from the crowd used one of the keys from the chain he removed from his pocket to open the front door, and stood back so they could enter.
    There was a murmur of voices from the street and a single word: “Joshua.” Then the door closed and there was silence.