The Killing Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

lab work. A couple days and we’ll see what they picked up.”
    “Didn’t anything turn up on the Penta ID?”
    Pat gave me an annoyed scowl and shook his head. “That went out on the wires first thing. Washington, Interpol ... they’ve all been notified. Trouble is, it’s the weekend. Everybody takes off the weekend and some overworked clerk has got everything backed up.” He sat back, stretched and said, “What are you planning to tell the Ice Lady?”
    “To go piss up a stick.”
    “Give her Penta instead. She’ll love you for it.”
    “I can do without that. Who is she, anyway?”
    Pat got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He dropped in a couple of Sweet ‘n’ Lows, sipped it and said, “Somebody the DA has been keeping under wraps. She was the tactician on the two major cases that jumped him into the office last year. Suddenly she wants into field work and you drew her, buddy.”
    “Great.”
    “Don’t try screwing with her brain. She’s a real whiz kid.”
    “Not if she tried pulling a stupid bluff on me. Who the hell does she think I am, some kid with a new ticket?”
    “Believe me,” Pat said, she’s got something going for her. I’d cover my ass if I were you.“
    The big clock on the wall read ten twenty-five and I reset my watch. I told Pat I had some things to do and would call in later. He damn well knew what I had in mind and just said so long.
    Weekends are the odd times when the regular shift of office maintenance personnel is off and the occasional help comes on. Some are the steadies picking up a few extra bucks, a few are retirees bolstering their pensions and Social Security, and most of them I knew over the years. They were on yesterday and they were on today. The guard in the lobby was an old-timer who let me know the cops had spoken to everyone on the job yesterday and from what he could find out, nobody had anything to offer. Saturday had been a quiet day and, as always, there had been strangers in the building, but that was common and nobody seemed to have stood out from the rest.
    I went in the office and Nat Drutman, the building manager, gave me a typed list of the help. “You had some reporters looking for you earlier,” he told me.
    “Let them in?”
    “Temptation almost got me. One guy offered me five bills for a couple of photos.”
    “What kept you back?”
    “Man, the place was still wet from the cleaning. That carpet is going to have to come up.”
    “They still around?”
    “As of an hour ago they were.”
    “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
    “Why don’t you check your office? Those guys’ll do anything for a photo.”
    There were four on the list that could possibly have seen someone going to my office. Unfortunately, the first two hadn’t seen anything and like they said, “We wouldn‘a told dem cops nothing anyway, Mike. To you we’d say. To them, nuts.”
    It was the third name that came up with something curious. Her name was Maria Escalante. She changed the sand in the ashtrays at the elevator banks and she was new in the building. I found her dusting the blinds at the far end of the third floor and said, “Miss Escalante?”
    She turned, saw me and stiffened. “I have a green card,” she said almost defiantly. “I told the others, I have a green card.” She reached under her sweater and pulled out a wallet, thumbing its contents. “Look,” she told me. “I show it to you.” Her Mexican accent was thick.
    “That’s all right, lady, I believe you.”
    She tightened up at that. “You are a policeman?” I rarely ever did it, but I popped my own wallet open to my license. It looked pretty damn official. She shook her head. It wasn’t enough.
    “Let me see your pistola.”
    That she could understand. I wondered what part of Mexico she came from. I opened my coat and let her see the .45 in the speed rig on my left side.
    “Sí. I believe. My name is Maria Escalante and I live at ...”
    I waved her off. “I don’t need that,