Crisis Read Online Free PDF

not disturbing the scene until you guys finish checking it out."
    "Hold on!" Jack said. "Are you telling me the woman's naked?"
    "Naked as a jaybird. And to top it off, she doesn't even have any pubic hair. She's shaved like a cue ball, which --"
    "Lou!" Jack interrupted. "It wasn't a suicide!"
    "Excuse me?" Lou questioned with disbelief. "Are you trying to tell me you can tell this was a homicide without even seeing the scene?"
    "I'll look at the scene, but yes, I'm telling you it wasn't a suicide. Was there a note?"
    "Supposedly, but it's in Farsi. So I don't know what it says. The diplomat says it's a suicide note."
    "It wasn't a suicide, Lou," Jack repeated. The elevator arrived. He boarded but kept the door from closing. He didn't want to lose the connection with Lou. "I'll even put a fiver on it. I've never heard of a case of a woman committing suicide in the nude. It just doesn't happen."
    "You're joking!"
    "No, I'm not. The thought is that's not the way women suicide victims want to be found.You'd better act accordingly and get your crime-scene people there. And you know the feisty diplomat husband or whatever he is has got to be your number-one suspect. Don't let him disappear into the Iranian mission. You might not see him again."
    The elevator door closed as Jack flipped his phone shut. He hoped there wasn't a deeper meaning behind the interruption of the evening's plans. Jack's true bete noire was the fear that death stalked the people he loved, making him complicit when they died. He looked at his watch. It was now twenty after seven. "Damn!" he said out loud and slapped the elevator door a few times with the palms of his hands in frustration. Maybe he should rethink the whole idea.
    With rapidity born of repetition, Jack got his mountain bike from the area of the morgue where the Potter's Field coffins were stored, unlocked it, put on his helmet, and wheeled it out onto the 30th Street loading dock. Between the mortuary vans, he climbed on and cycled out into the street. At the corner, he turned right onto First Avenue.
    Once he was on the bike, Jack's anxieties melted away. Standing up, he put muscle into his pumping and the bike shot forward, rapidly picking up speed. Rush-hour traffic had abated to a degree, and the cars, taxis, buses, and trucks were moving at a good clip. Jack was not able to keep up, but it was close. Once he had achieved his cruising speed, he settled back onto the seat and shifted into a higher gear. From his daily bike riding and basketball playing, he was in tip-top shape.
    The evening was glorious, with a golden glow suffusing the cityscape. Individual skyscrapers stood out sharply against the blue sky, the hue of which was deepening with every passing minute. Jack streaked past the New York University Medical Center on his right and, a little further north, the UN General Assembly complex. When he could, Jack moved to his left so that he was able to turn onto 47th Street, which was one-way, conveniently heading east.
    The UN Towers was a few doors up from First Avenue. Sheathed in glass and marble, the structure soared up an impressive sixty-some-odd stories into the evening sky. Directly in front of the awning that stretched from its entrance to the street were several New York City squad cars with their lights flashing. Hardened New Yorkers walked by without a glance. There was also a battered Chevy Malibu double-parked next to one of the squad cars. Jack recognized it as Lou's. In front of the Malibu was a Health and Human Services mortuary van.
    As Jack locked his bike to a no-parking signpost, his anxieties returned. The ride had been too short to have any lasting effect. It was now seven thirty. He flashed his medical examiner's badge to the uniformed doorman and was directed to the fifty-fourth floor.
    Up in apartment 54J, things had quieted considerably. When Jack walked in, Lou Soldano, Allen Eisenberg, Steve Marriott, and a number of uniformed officers were sitting around