Puppets Read Online Free PDF Page B

heels not quite touching the pad. They put a sheet over him, but the contorted, clutching tented shape was in some ways worse.
    Photographers began to shoot the scene, still and video, a sketch artist mapped the room, and the trace techs went at the surfaces. St. Pierre went out to talk to the uniforms and the neighbors, and as the techs continued their work, Marsden took Mo aside. They went into the kitchen, where the geometric arrangements were in evidence on all the counters. Mo put on a fresh pair of gloves and poked cautiously around in drawers and cabinets. Marsden stood glowering out the window over the sink.
    "So we've got a copycat,"Marsden said. "Starting up here in White Plains."
    "Looks that way."
    "Your sick leave is canceled."
    "I figured." Mo opened the refrigerator, looked at plastic-wrapped cold cuts, a bag of carrots, bottles of Heineken, milk, OJ. Typical stuff. The killer had not done his hyper compulsive arranging in the fridge.
    Marsden said, "I know Biedermann a little, he's the FBI's guy running the Howdy Doody investigation. Manhattan field office. You'll need to get in touch with him. Also the other members of the first task force, see what they can tell you about the original. I understand the feds called in an outside consultant to work with Behavioral Sciences, a shrink in Manhattan, you might want to consult with him."
    Mo used his pen to lift the edge of a pot holder, peered underneath. "Maybe they've got the wrong person, we're dealing with the original here?"
    "Caught him red-handed, the way I heard it." Marsden watched Mo for a moment, standing with his arms crossed and resting on his big belly. "Why's it so cold in here?" he complained.
    "Central air-conditioning. Somebody turned it all the way down. Not bad for our purposes, but I'm wondering why." Mo opened another drawer, found the kitchen utensils, and bent close to stir his pen through potato peelers, knives, kitchen shears. Probably the killer had brought his own gear, but it would be good to bag up every likely tool in the house, look for residues of the plastic line, prints, maybe some DNA.
    "The bitch is," Marsden said, "that the first guy got into a rhythm of about once a month toward the end. We don't know how the new guy will do it. But if we've got something like this to deal with once a month, it's going to be a shitty summer." The Si's voice had gotten thoughtful, almost sad-sounding. "There's another thing for me, I haven't mentioned this to anybody, I've been having this heart stuff took a stress test last week, where they put you on a treadmill?Flunked it, I've got a congestive problem in the coronary arteries, they're gonna do an angiogram on me, end of the month. But if I have to get a bypass, I'll miss a lot of time or maybe even get moved to some other department. Plus in the meantime I've got to avoid stress, anxiety, overwork, that shit. Like that's a possibility. Supposed to lose weight, quit smoking, too."
    Mo looked at Marsden. This was an unprecedented level of intimacy, and he wondered what the senior investigator was leading up to."Jesus. I'm sorry, Frank. I have to say, you've been hiding it well. I mean, you look good—"
    "Bullshit."
    "Okay. You don't look any worse than usual."
    Marsden grinned sourly "I've been thinking who's gonna stand in for me as unit coordinator. St. Pierre's out, too new. Paderewski's okay, but she doesn't get along with half the guys. Benoit, he's dumb as a stump, I don't know how he ever got in here, and Estey and Valsangiacomo just like guns and cars, they're not good with paper or people. Then there's Mo Ford, he's the smartest of the bunch, got the best solverate, but can't stay out of trouble and he's earned some enemies. Maybe his commitment to a career isn't what it has to be for unit coordinator, maybe he doesn't have the patience to do things by the book. Maybe his personal life gets in the way? So you can see what I'm up against." Marsden gestured toward the door, the back