Cuts Through Bone Read Online Free PDF

replied. “But I need some convincing about him.” He parked in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, a few blocks from Police Plaza. “We heard enough details to check his story against the newspapers, and we could save getting excited by finding out first if the NYPD talked to him. Right? That works out, we’ll talk to him again.”
    Vasquez grunted; the little detective had good reasons, but reasons wouldn’t catch a drunk. The Lower East sheltered plenty of drunks and crackheads. She knew enough of them. They could get low and dodge cops better than anybody but a priest. The detectives locked the old Ford and walked, pausing to wait on the south side of the plaza.
    Downtown Manhattan filled with people while they waited. Trains and taxis poured forth rushing torrents of busy professionals. Women held purses clamped beneath their arms and phones to their ears. Men uniformed in dark suits and wing tips wielded briefcases and folios like shields. Offices and cubicles awaited them, each with an appointed place at the end of the scramble of rush hour.
    The detectives waited, as invisible as lampposts, while the rush slowed to a trickle. A tall young man wearing a dark blue NYPD jogging suit leaped from a taxi on the south side of Police Plaza. He rushed the entrance like a linebacker chasing a ball carrier, but stopped suddenly when he saw Guthrie.
    â€œYo, Guth! I should’ve known you’d wait here. You need a pass—” He gawked at Vasquez, pulling off wraparound sunglasses. “Geez! How old are you? Twelve?”
    The young Puerto Rican laughed, looking up. He towered over her, but he still didn’t have a beard.
    â€œTommy, I know you’re a blond, but seriously,” Guthrie said. “She’s Rachel Vasquez, and she’s, like, fourteen at least. Ask her if she wants to go roller-skating, why don’t you?”
    â€œAll right! Don’t get upset, Guth, come on.”
    â€œThis’s Tommy Johnson,” the little detective said. “I changed a few of his diapers when he wasn’t so big—his folks are from Ohio. Now he’s some hotshot engineer who plays with the chemistry sets they keep in there.”
    â€œI’m just a tech,” he said with a shrug. “Guthrie kind of helped me find a job while I’m finishing school.”
    The young man secured passes, then ushered them through the glowing marble lobby. The elevators opened into a different atmosphere—less impressive but more human, without any feel of their being watched. Glass walls in the work spaces allowed an illusion of depth, but the sight lines were cut by moving people, banks of tables and machinery, freezers, racks, and darkened spaces. The ISU processed evidence for the NYPD. Almost all of the investigative threads in the city passed through the ISU lab.
    Tommy Johnson’s boss was Beth Whitcomb, a first-grade in her mid-forties. Locks of dark hair peeked from behind her ears, escaping from her paper cap. She sighed impatiently when she saw the young man and his visitors.
    â€œYou’re who wants a walk-through on Bowman?” she asked.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Guthrie replied. “The papers haven’t had much, and now that you have a perp—”
    â€œAbout a perp, I’d say maybe,” Whitcomb interjected. “Anyway, we’re off the record and we’re not talking about a perp, only a crime. Only this crime. What we do is about the crime, not the suspects. Right, Tommy?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” the young man intoned dully.
    She smiled. “Good. Now you’re having all the fun I’m having, and that makes us even.” She waved them all into her office. Tommy closed the door. Beyond the glass on the other side, a long table held a bank of microscopes. Two techs worked repetitively at sample cases. Faint chemical odors and ozone mixed, giving her office a spicy smell.
    â€œWe have a bullet and we have