Flesh and Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

paper, then back down at it. “Did you read this, Frank? Last night in Queens, two cops shot each other. Lovers, can you believe it? Both of them married. God knows how many kids between them.” He looked at Frank. “It’s the sort of thing that makes my heart soar. What about you?”
    Frank drew a chair over to Tannenbaum’s desk and sat down.
    â€œA couple of weeks ago a woman was killed up on Seventy-sixth Street.” he said. “Her name was Hannah Karlsberg.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou still working that case?”
    â€œWell, it’s way too early to close it, Frank.”
    â€œAre you in charge of it?”
    â€œMore or less,” Tannenbaum said. “Why?”
    â€œI’ve been asked to look into it,” Frank told him.
    â€œReally?” Tannenbaum said. “Who asked you to do that?”
    â€œA paying customer,” Frank said.
    Tannenbaum laughed. “Come on, Frank, this isn’t television. Cops and PIs work together, you know that.” He smiled thinly. “Let’s face it, you can’t do much without us. At least not when we’re talking about murder.” He winked playfully. “But, hey, give the devil his due, you know. I mean, when it comes to catching some politico in his girlfriend’s undies, you guys have it all over us.”
    Frank said nothing, and so Tannenbaum continued, happily shooting one finger after another into the air as he ticked off the singular disadvantages of a private investigator who chooses not to share his information with the police. “I love reminding you guys that you don’t have a crime lab. You don’t have a fingerprint file. You can’t do ballistics, run hair and fiber samples, or put so much as a fingernail clipping under the infrared. I hate to tell you, but you can’t swab a vagina for semen or trace the blood type of the freak who put it there. You can’t do soil chemistry, Frank, or footprint molds, or work up a composite of the human face.” He leaned forward. “Am I making my point?”
    Frank stared at him expessionlessly.
    â€œYou can’t do autopsies, work up psychological profiles or look into anybody’s past by way of our computers,” Tannenbaum continued authoritatively. Then he stared evenly into Frank’s eyes. “So what it all adds up to is this: when it comes to a murder case, you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you.”
    â€œCovallo,” Frank said. “Imalia Covallo.”
    â€œShe’s your client?”
    â€œYes.”
    Tannenbaum smiled. “That what I figured.” He leaned back in his chair. “And so she figures you can collar the guy who killed Miss Karlsberg.”
    â€œShe only wants you to release the body,” Frank told him, “so the woman can have a decent burial.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œShe’s not interested in who killed her?”
    â€œShe’s leaving that to you.”
    Tannenbaum nodded. “Well, it’s understandable, her concern. About burying her friend, I mean. I don’t like keeping bodies in the cooler, myself. What else did she have to say?”
    â€œJust what the police told her.”
    â€œWhich was?”
    â€œThat you didn’t want to release the body,” Frank said. “And that you didn’t have to unless a relative demanded it.”
    â€œThat’s the law, Frank,” Tannenbaum said. “Did she say anything else?”
    â€œThat Karlsberg was a loyal employee.”
    â€œAnd she wants you to find a relative, right?”
    â€œYes.”
    Tannenbaum shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I can help you.” He took a manila folder from the top drawer of his desk and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” he said as he stood up briskly. “I could use a street-dog.”
    Once outside the precinct