The Lost Witness Read Online Free PDF Page B

entrance, starring at them with a quizzical expression across his broad face.
    “Sounds like a serious discussion, Chief. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
    Lena could tell in an instant that West wasn’t sorry at all. From the look he gave the chief and his adjutant, it seemed they probably didn’t get along. She remembered hearing a
rumor that the chief’s appointment had not been a unanimous decision by the police commission. That the water had been cloudy, and one of the five members voted against his appointment. Lena
wondered if the lone vote of dissension came from West. From the look on Chief Logan’s face, and Klinger’s, they had heard the rumor and come to the same conclusion.
    “We’re finished here,” the chief said. “It’s no interruption at all, Senator.”
    “I’m glad, because I’m a fan of Detective Gamble.”
    West turned away from the chief and gazed at Lena. His eyes were clear and easy and filled with a certain wisdom.
    “When Denny Ramira pointed you out,” he said, “I couldn’t believe that you were here. I followed the Romeo murders just like everybody else. I’ve wanted to meet you
for a long time.”
    He smiled and reached for her hand. She could feel the tension in the room. But then Klinger turned away from the senator and stepped out of the alcove. As the chief began to follow his
adjutant, he stopped at the entrance and shot Lena another look.
    “There’s been a change, Detective. The autopsy’s scheduled for tomorrow morning—eight sharp—not sometime in the afternoon.”
    “What about the pathologist?”
    “We can’t waste time. I told Madina that if he needs to sleep, he’d better do it on the plane.”
    The chief didn’t wait for a response from her. Instead, he marched through the meeting room and followed Klinger into the lobby. West watched them exit, then turned back and spoke in a
voice that wouldn’t carry.
    “This is Los Angeles, Detective. Chiefs come and go. But now more than ever, we need people like you to fill the ranks and take charge.”
    Lena didn’t really follow politics, but had read enough to know that West was one of the good guys. The senator obviously had overheard the chief and his adjutant giving her the goods. He
had interrupted them in order to help her. While she appreciated the gesture, he was slighting her commanding officer. No matter how great the compliment, it would have been out of line to respond.
Instead, she was thinking about the autopsy. Only the chief could have forced Madina to shorten his trip in New Haven. Only the chief could make it happen so quickly. She wasn’t upset. She
was grateful. She was thrilled.
    Her mind surfaced. Something glistened in the light, and her eyes flicked down the senator’s jacket. He was wearing a pin on his lapel. Not the obligatory depiction of the flag, but
something far more personal.
    “Would you like to see it?” West asked.
    She nodded. “The firefighters. They gave it to you after nine-eleven.”
    He flashed a warm smile—his blue eyes sparkling—then removed the pin and handed it to her.
    “It was a gift,” he said. “I wear it every day. It’s something I’ll never forget.”
    Lena rolled the pin over in her palm until the gold caught the light. It was a three-dimensional work of art depicting an LAFD fire engine set at ground zero in New York City. Nine firefighters
stood on top of the truck raising a ladder toward the sun. Lena remembered when West had been honored by the Los Angeles Fire Department because her entire division participated in the ceremony.
But she had never seen the pin before in real life, only pictures of the bright red and gold object printed in the paper. It was handmade by an artist living in South Pasadena. It was a very
special pin given to someone who not only bent over backwards to help the rescue operation after the attack, but who also fought to provide medical treatment and financial aid years after when
rescue workers