The Killer in My Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page A

of them would be true. The newspapers would go to town on his difficult childhood and turbulent youth, his dependence on drugs and sex in spite of the fact that he belonged to one of the most high-profile families in the city.
    On the opposite side of the street was a diner that was one of Jordan’s regular haunts. He had often whiled away the hours there, joshing with the waitresses or just staring into the distance, searching for a solution he never found. Over time, he and the owner, Tim Brogan, had become friends, and Tim allowed him to keep his motorcycle in the little yard in back.
    Walking past the windows, Jordan waved at a waitress in a green uniform who was serving two customers sitting at the table facing the street. As she had her hands full, she replied with a nod of the head and a smile.
    He slipped into the alley and then turned right into the yard. Standing next to his motorbike, which was covered in a dust sheet, was Annette, another of the waitresses, taking a short cigarette-break. Jordan was familiar with her story. Her husband had long been fighting a losing battle with alcohol, and a few years earlier her son had been in trouble with the police. When she had turned to Jordan for help, he had taken pity on her and done what he could to help. Annette didn’t talk about her husband these days, but her son had a job now and seemed determined to stay out of trouble.
    ‘Hi, Jordan. I thought I’d find an empty place here this morning instead of your bike. I was sure you’d be gone by now.’
    ‘So was I. But someone’s decided otherwise.’
    ‘Trouble?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Her face darkened for a moment. ‘We all have our troubles, Jordan.’
    Jordan approached the bike and started removing the sheet, until his shiny red Ducati 999 was revealed. Used to it as he was, he was still susceptible to its charms. It was the kind of bike you loved not only for its performance, but even more for its appearance.
    ‘It’s a beautiful machine,’ Annette said.
    ‘Beautiful and dangerous,’ Jordan replied, folding the sheet.
    ‘No more than a lot of things in this city. See you around.’ She threw her cigarette on the ground and carefully stubbed it out with her foot. Then she turned and went back inside the diner.
    As Jordan switched on the ignition and buckled on his helmet, it struck him that he was about to do something he’d done many times in the past – something he’d thought he’d never have to do again: head out for a crime scene after taking a call. But this time it was different. This time, the victim was someone who was part of his life, even though he had long ago chosen not to be part of anybody’s life.
    But that was a minor consideration. The important thing was that Jerry Ko’s real name was Gerald Marsalis and that, apart from being Jordan’s nephew, he was also the son of Christopher Marsalis, the Mayor of New York.

CHAPTER 5
     
    Jordan turned onto the final stretch of Water Street. By this time of day, the light was dividing the street exactly in half. Right and left, sun and shade, hot and cold.
    The media were already out in force. There were print journalists moving about as best they could between the police cars, and trucks from
Eyewitness News
and Channel 4 parked on the square at Peck Slip. A woman reporter from the 24-hour news channel NY1, whose name he couldn’t remember, was broadcasting live with the cordoned-off area in the background. Their prompt appearance had to be connected to the fact that there was always some cop in the force who was paying his mortgage or his son’s college fees by playing the profitable role of ‘reliable source’.
    Jordan parked his bike where it would remain in the shade, in order not to find the saddle boiling hot when he came back. He then walked casually towards the building as if he was merely another curious bystander, keeping his helmet on his head in order to avoid being recognized. If there was one thing he didn’t want or need