The Stolen Ones Read Online Free PDF Page B

watch it, and tell him if there was anything he needed to know. There wasn’t.
    ‘I made a few calls before I left,’ Jessica said. ‘I asked for backup copies to some of the files that are missing. They’re on the way.’
    These files included the autopsy and the toxicology reports, as well as a detailed report from the Firearms Unit on the murder weapon. There were digital copies of all this material, of course, but it would take a while. Although the murder of Robert Freitag was an open/unsolved, it was technically a cold case. There had been more than thirty homicides in the City of Brotherly Love since then, and every victim deserved the attention of all divisions in those crucial first few days.
    Jessica looked out over Priory Park. ‘Is it too late to turn in my badge today?’
    Byrne smiled. ‘You can do it, but I don’t think you’ll get a full refund. And then there’s that restocking fee.’
    ‘It’s always something.’ She glanced at her watch. She was wet and cold and ready to move inside. She knew that her partner needed time at the crime scene, even one as cold and wet as this. She asked anyway. ‘Ready to head back?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘You want to follow me?’
    ‘No, I’ll ride with you. I want to come back here later, make a lap around the park. Look for vantage points.’
    The nearest houses were just to the west. Although the view from those houses was almost certainly obscured by a deep tree line, it was probably worth checking out. If John Garcia had driven up there, and talked to some of the residents, the notes were not in the binder. They would have to re-canvass, although conducting a neighborhood interview a month after a crime rarely yielded anything useful.
    The missing files, combined with John Garcia’s notes, meant that they were not even starting at square one, but before square one. They didn’t even have the benefit of a dead body or crime scene to work.
    The killing ground had long ago disclosed its secrets.
     
    Twenty minutes later, Jessica and Byrne turned onto Almond Street. Jessica pulled over in front of Robert Freitag’s row house, put the car in park.
    Neither detective wanted to leave the warmth of the car.
    ‘I forgot to ask,’ Byrne said. ‘How’s school?’
    Jessica shook her head. ‘Don’t ask.’
    ‘That bad?’
    ‘I fell asleep in class.’
    ‘Sleep was pretty much my default position when I was in school.’
    ‘With your hand raised?’
    ‘No,’ Byrne said. ‘I think you win that one. Then again, I never raised my hand.’ He pointed to the pile of texts on the front seat of Jessica’s car. ‘Has anyone offered to carry your books?’
    ‘
Please
. I have pantyhose older than these kids.’
    ‘Jess, you have a ponytail. You don’t look a day older than any of them.’
    Jessica cut the engine. ‘You are a fabulous liar,’ she said. ‘Have you ever considered going to law school?’
    Byrne smiled. ‘And give up show business?’
     
    The address was a two-story stone-front structure, third from the corner, 1920s vintage. There were four sandstone steps up to the front door, which shared a white awning with the house next to it. The two sidewalk-level basement windows were glass blocked. The front windows had security bars, as did most of the houses on the street.
    Jessica opened the screen door. Across the interior door jamb was a bright orange PPD sticker, signed by John Garcia two days before he died.
    The sticker was intact. No one had been inside Robert Freitag’s house since that day.
    Jessica took out the envelope she had gotten from Dana Westbrook, tore it open, dumped the key into her hand. She slipped the key in the lock.
    As she opened the door she turned to her partner.
    ‘So, you don’t have a new case yet?’
    Byrne shook his head. ‘Philly behaved last night.’
    ‘Imagine that.’

7
    Jessica had always thought that loneliness had a smell, a grim and silent airlessness that said that the occupant of a space drew a