The Killer in My Eyes Read Online Free PDF

right now, it was to be mobbed by a crowd of reporters wielding microphones.
    Jordan had reached the barrier. There was an opening just in front of the main door of the building, where two officers were keeping guard. He knew one of them from Headquarters at One Police Plaza, which was only half a mile away. The officer had already stepped forward to bar his way when Jordan’s head emerged from the helmet. The other man recognized him and opened the barrier a little more to let him through.
    ‘Good morning, Lieutenant.’
    ‘I’m not a lieutenant any more, Rodriguez.’
    ‘No, of course not, Lieut— I’m sorry.’
    ‘It’s OK, Oscar. Are they all up there?’
    ‘Sure, on the top floor. The Mayor hasn’t arrived yet.’
    ‘I know. He should be here any minute.’
    Officer Oscar Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sorry about your nephew . . . Mr Marsalis.’
    ‘Thanks, Oscar. Can I go up?’
    ‘Sure. Nobody said so openly, but I have the feeling they’re waiting for you.’ Rodriguez stood aside to let him enter the building.
    As he went up in the elevator, Jordan recalled that he had never visited his nephew’s loft. One evening, though, he had met him by chance at Via Della Pace, an Italian restaurant in the East Village. Gerald was with a group of young men and women whose appearance and behaviour seemed perfectly in line with his lifestyle. They all had the same expression on their faces – a mixture of arrogance and nihilism. From the way they deferred to Gerald, it was clear that he was their leader. When Jordan had approached the table, his nephew had interrupted the speech he was making to his friends and looked his uncle in the eyes, without surprise and without pleasure.
    ‘Hello, Gerald.’
    His nephew had grimaced. ‘Gerald is history. It’s a name that doesn’t belong to me any more. Nothing’s left of what I was before.’
    ‘Nothing and everything are extremes. Sometimes it doesn’t take much for them to meet.’
    ‘Fine words, Father Marsalis. I didn’t know you’d become a philosopher. If you came in here to give me a lecture . . .’
    Jordan had shaken his head slightly. ‘No, I came in here because I was hungry, but I think I came to the wrong place.’
    ‘I think you’re right.’
    Silence had fallen, the kind of silence that always falls between two people who have nothing more to say to each other. Jordan had turned and walked away. In the indistinct buzz that had followed him, he had made out one phrase: ‘Just a cop.’
    That was the last time he had seen his brother’s son.
    When the elevator doors opened, the first thing that struck him was the strong smell of paint. The door of the apartment was wide open, and inside, the Crime Scene team could be seen going about their business. Given the identity of the victim, it was obvious that no effort would be spared.
    Presumably Christopher had informed them of his arrival, because Detective James Burroni came out on the landing before the officer guarding the door of the apartment could bar his way.
    ‘It’s OK, Pollard, I’ll deal with it.’
    Jordan had known Burroni a long time and knew he was a good officer. They had worked together in the Ninth Precinct when that was still a frontier outpost, but had never been on especially friendly terms. Jordan couldn’t blame the man for his attitude. Nobody readily forgave a colleague for being simultaneously a well-known figure in Homicide
and
the brother of the Mayor. It was obvious that many people thought his rapid rise had more to do with family connections than merit.
    Jordan felt strangely like an intruder, being here at a crime scene, even though the crime concerned him personally. And he had the impression Burroni was thinking the same thing.
    ‘Hello, James.’
    ‘Hello there, Jordan. Sorry to be meeting because of something like this.’
    Jordan made a vague gesture with his hand, as if to dismiss the awkwardness of the moment. They both knew the score.
    ‘Come