Stray Bullets Read Online Free PDF

tired.
    Greene had his badge in his hand, and he flashed it at her.
    “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, detective.”
    “Don’t be sorry, that’s good work.” He extended his arm to shake hands. “Ari Greene.”
    “PC Albright,” she said. Her fingers were tense.
    “Where’s the father?” he asked.
    “Room 908. He just told his wife.”
    “I heard she’s pregnant,” he said.
    “Due in about two weeks. Started bleeding a few days ago. Has had two miscarriages since their first son was born.” She spoke in a clipped staccato, like she was reading from a notebook.
    “Who’s your partner?”
    “PC Darvesh. He’s outside the room.”
    “Good,” he said. “The press are all over the lobby downstairs. I’ve got officers covering every elevator and the stairwell. Still they’ll try to sneak up here. No matter what, don’t let them anywhere near them.”
    “I won’t.”
    He took a few steps down the hall, then turned back. “Remember, you’re not just protecting this family,” he told Albright. “Being here, they see people care.”
    Her tight lips turned up into a wan smile. “Thanks, detective.”
    The door to room 908 was open. Another young officer, this one a male Sikh wearing a blue turban with a Toronto police insignia squarely in the center, was standing guard, his back to the wall. He glanced at Greene’s badge and nodded. From inside the room Greene heard crying, great sobs of shock and sorrow.
    The officer gave Greene a firm handshake. “PC Darvesh.” He kept his voice low.
    “Ari Greene.” He stood beside Darvesh.
    An old clock hung crookedly on the opposite wall. It was 7:18.
    “How long you been here?” Greene was almost whispering.
    “Since midnight.”
    “Tough assignment,” Greene said.
    “Yes.” Darvesh’s eyes were straight forward.
    Greene folded his arms and concentrated on the sweep of the second hand. He was impressed with PC Darvesh. The man’s stillness. Patience. Learning how to wait things out was the toughest thing to teach young cops. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card.
    “Don’t go home when you get off shift,” he said. “Call me. I might have an assignment for you.”
    Darvesh took the card and didn’t say a word. Greene liked his quiet confidence.
    Footsteps approached from inside room 908.
    “You must be Detective Greene,” a large, rotund man said. He reached out his hand.
    Greene shook it. “Hello, Mr. Wilkinson.”
    “Thanks for watching out for my wife.” Wilkinson’s eyes were puffy.
    “What else can we do?”
    Wilkinson shook his head. “What can I do?”
    Greene looked down at his hands. “I need to take a statement from you as soon as you’re ready.”
    Wilkinson wiped a tear off his big cheek. “Okay.”
    “There’s a lounge down the hallway. It should be empty this early in the morning,” Greene said.
    The two men walked shoulder to shoulder through the hospital corridor, neither saying a word.
    Greene heard a ringing sound.
    “Damn cell phone.” Wilkinson jammed his hand into his pocket. He turned it off without even pulling it out to look at it.
    They continued on in silence. “Do you have any brothers or sisters or relatives who live in Toronto?” Greene asked as they neared the end of the hall.
    Wilkinson shook his head. “Head office moved us up here three months ago and we’re still getting settled. Both of our families are back in California. Why?”
    “We’ll worry about it later,” Greene said.
    “I heard you identified the shooter.”
    “We’ve got a suspect,” Greene said.
    “Someone said there were two guys.”
    “It’s early yet.”
    Tempting as it was for the police, and frustrating as it was for the victims, telling the family too much at this early stage was a huge mistake. Wilkinson seemed to sense this and changed the topic. “Kyle lived for almost fourteen hours. The doctor said he was a real fighter.”
    “I heard that.”
    The lounge was empty. The big man stopped