Every Move She Makes Read Online Free PDF Page A

homicide cases.
     
    "The pathologist found some seeds tucked between his ring and finger."
     
    "What sort of seeds?" "I'm not sure yet. There's a professor out at UC
    Berkeley I've used before. I may take them out to him." The ground floor of the Hall was its usual sea of people, all on their way somewhere, the importance of their own agendas apparent in the speed with which they walked.
     
    We waded through them to the elevator.
     
    "Up or down?" Reid asked. "Property." He pressed the Down button. "You look pretty serious today." I attempted a snlile. "Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.
     
    What'd you need?" The doors opened. We stepped in.
     
    "I was wondering if you wanted to go to lunch?" His invitation threw me, and my first inclination was to decline. The elevator descended, opened, and we stepped into the basement, toward the Property room. I stopped in the doorway, looked at him. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"
    "Not really," he said. "I just haven't talked to you for a couple of days. Well, not since Napa." He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, his expression hopeful. He did not lack in the charm department. "Look, Reid. I'm sorry about standing you up. it's just something I can't discuss right now."
     
    "I'm not asking you."
     
    "Wait here while I book this. I'll get back to you in a sec." I moved past him into the Property room, where I signed the log, my mind telling me to steer clear, despite the maturity with which he seemed to be handling this. Why was I even considering it? Had Scolari been here, he would have sarcastically pointed out that we got divorced for a reason.
    And he would have been right.
     
    One of the clerks approached, smiled when he saw me.
     
    "Hey, Martin," I said.
     
    "Gillespie. Bringing me more stuff?" He handed me a property sheet, and I filled it out, writing "seven seeds" for item number two. Under "Description" I included "Found with item number one," which was the wedding band. "How's Joey?" I asked while I wrote. His grandson had been hospitalized with meningitis.
     
    "You'd never guess he was sick." Martin bearded.
     
    "My daughter's sending me pictures of his first haircut." I handed him the property sheet and the evidence, which I marked with my initials, the date, and the case number. "Call me when you get the pictures. I'd like to see them." I signed out on the log book, then rejoined Reid, who had been watching from the doorway. "About lunch," he said. "Pizza," I replied, my stomach making the decision for me. It wasn't a date. He was my ex. We walked the two blocks to Giovanni's Italian deli, talking about nothing in particular, a refreshing change from our usual conversations about cops and cases. The restaurant was dimly lit, with dark paneling and smoked mirrors lining the walls. For a pizza parlor it was upscale, serving more of a business clientele, which was reflected in the higher prices and white tablecloths throughout. We sat in a corner booth, where a busboy brought us water and fresh garlic bread.
    "You'll never guess who just walked in," Reid said, handing me the bread basket. The scent of butter and roasted garlic filled the air. "Look in the mirror. Sitting two booths behind you." I took a slice of bread, still warm, as I glanced up into the bronzed glass. "Who?" Then I saw exactly who he meant.
     
    Nicholas Paolini.
     
    Seeing him in person had a more profound effect than any of the numerous phone threats I'd received since his arrest. Post-traumatic stress, I'm sure the department shrink would tell me. I was well versed with the term, being the victim of a shooting-something I blamed Paolini for.
    Several months after his arrest and the ensuing phone threats, I was shot while assisting in another drug bust in one of the buildings Paolini owned. It was never proven that he'd been behind the threats or the attempt on my life. And once he had posted bail, he had managed to maintain his reputation as an upstanding, concerned citizen, while