Partners In Crime Read Online Free PDF Page A

flowing about him as if he were
invisible.
    "Who the hell are you?" A nasal voice
heavily rimmed with a New York City accent startled him out of his
confusion. T.S. found himself staring at the forehead of a
roly-poly, swarthy man whose thinning black hair was combed over
his scalp in a last ditch effort to hide impending baldness. T.S.
noted the suit—straight off the rack and badly fitting—at the same
time he noticed the man's massive torso. It strained his shirt, a
huge chest barreling down to a waist gone soft. The man was short
and slightly plump, but unmistakably powerful. T.S. took a
reflexive step backwards, sending the fireplace rack and tools
tumbling over with a tremendous clanging. He was instantly pinned
in the silent scrutiny of dozens of pairs of trained eyes until, as
if on mass cue, the steady hum of activity began again and a
multitude of tasks resumed.
    T.S. retrieved the tools with disgust,
savagely clanging them back into place. He was really getting tired
of people screaming in his face. "My name is T.S. Hubbert. I'm the
retired Personnel Manager of Sterling & Sterling. I am here at
the request of Edgar Hale, Managing Partner, and I don't like it
any more than you. And while we're at it, who the hell, may I ask,
are you?"
    The man had observed T.S. during this speech
with an expression vacillating between contempt and amusement. He
stared at T.S. passively, then casually dug wax out of one ear and
shrugged. "I'm Lieutenant Abromowitz. I'm in charge of the scene.
You can remain since the old man made such a stink. But stay where
you are. I don't want anyone interfering with the physical
evidence. It already looks like a tribe of Ubangis tramped through
here."
    "I understood the young lady who called the
police did an excellent job of preserving the scene," T.S. replied
stiffly. If this guy was any indication of the brilliant minds at
work, they could go ahead and file this one under "unsolved."
    "That what she says?" Lieutenant Abromowitz
allowed, before adding cryptically, "That's what they all say."
    Before T.S. could think of a suitable reply,
they were interrupted by a scrawny young cop wearing a uniform
shirt T.S. estimated was at least three sizes too big and pants
that were too small. The kid's skinny legs poked out from the
bottom of the trousers, leaving an inch thick strip of pale white
skin before meeting black rubber boots. His hair stuck out like
dried wisps of straw, though it was brushed flat in front as if he
had at least tried to tame it. He looked like he'd escaped from a
prison farm for minors in Ohio and taken a wrong turn somewhere,
landing in the big city by mistake.
    "Um, lieutenant," the little cop stammered
nervously. "No one can find Tommy Shaunessy." He gulped as if
expecting the lieutenant to smack him with a riding crop at any
moment.
    "Who the hell is Tommy Shaunessy?"
Lieutenant Abromowitz demanded.
    "You know. The secretary's husband."
    "Oh, him." The lieutenant scowled. "Not home
yet?"
    "No sir. And his precinct says he didn't
have the night shift like he told his wife. In fact, he's due in
any minute to start his real shift."
    Abromowitz sighed. "You'd think these guys
could come up with more original stories." He rolled his eyes and
turned to T.S. "Every cop who plays around thinks he can get away
with it by claiming night shift."
    The younger officer waited nervously,
gulping as if his throat were dry. T.S. wondered how anyone could
be intimidated by the lieutenant.
    "Keep trying," Abromowitz ordered his man.
"But don't tell the wife. You never know when we'll need cover
ourselves." His laugh veered between lascivious and familiar, which
equaled repugnant in T.S.'s estimation. "If he's not in within the
next ten minutes or so, I'll question her myself without him.
Wouldn't hurt to have the best on the job, anyway, since she was
the first on the scene and knows the victim so well. Might have
noticed something useful. In fact, tell everyone to lay off her.
I'll handle