The Wrong Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

drug use, no…” She hesitated, tilting her head, staring. She seemed to forget anyone was in the room except for her and the dead woman.
    DeLuca, on the other hand, seemed to forget about the dead woman, his eyes only on the ME.
    “You two see anything? Find anything?” McMahan stood, holding her latex-gloved thumb over a red button on the recorder, pausing it and her examination. “Murder weapon, I mean? Like a…” Using the recorder like a pointer, she traced the shape of the wound, as if reminding herself. “Maybe a…”
    DeLuca cleared his throat. “Oh, no, ma’am. Not SOP. We were waiting for you before we—”
    “Like maybe a what?” Jake interrupted. Jeez. A dead woman on the floor and DeLuca was sucking up.
    McMahan shrugged and buttoned the recorder into a side pocket of her lab coat. “I want to say … frying pan, but that’s too cliché. No one has a rolling pin anymore, right? I mean, for what?”
    “Detectives?” A voice from the hallway. Not Hennessey. Not Jane.
    “Headquarters to Brogan, do you copy?” Jake’s beeping radio interrupted whoever spoke from the hall. He gestured DeLuca to the door, check it out, then thumbed the talk button. “Dispatch? This is Brogan, I copy.”
    “Supe requesting a call, please, Detective,” the dispatcher said.
    Kat McMahan crouched again, examining the woman’s bare feet.
    “Jake?” DeLuca was already back. “Afterwards is here.”
    McMahan looked up from the feet. “Afterwards?”
    “Crime scene cleanup company,” Jake explained.
    “Detective Brogan, do you copy?” The dispatcher’s voice crackled through the room. “Superintendent Rivera is standing by for your call.”
    “That’s efficient,” McMahan said. “ Too efficient. They always show up like this? Kinda soon. Kinda crowded in here about now.”
    “Copy,” Jake said into his radio. “Will do. And—”
    “They’re telling me the landlord called, Jake,” DeLuca said. “Says he told ’em to start with—”
    “Negative. Big time,” McMahan interrupted, talking over him. “My crime scene guys aren’t even here yet.”
    Jake held up a hand. “Tell Afterwards to go the frick away. Someone will alert them when they’re needed. And tell them—wait a sec. They say the landlord gave them the go-ahead? Great. Ask the Afterwards people who the hell the landlord is. Get his number, then call and find out who this tenant is. Mystery solved, right?”
    *

    That had been a pitiful waste of time. The cop, Hennessey, hadn’t given Jane the time of day, no matter what she tried. Worse, she already knew the time of day, which grew later and later as she learned less and less about whatever happened upstairs.
    She trudged toward the Explorer, feet freezing, fingers freezing, regrouping. Jake was upstairs. With numbing fingers, she found the cell phone in the pocket of her black parka, flipping it over and over in the silky lining. She was a reporter, he was a cop. Should she text him?
    If they weren’t trying to keep up appearances she’d have called him, probably a couple of times by now, as she would any other source. But now, she couldn’t. The wages of deception.
    Now, she had nothing. Usually there were neighbors, onlookers, sniffing around, some spotlight-seekers hoping to be interviewed. At this point, she’d be happy with a victim’s name and a couple of those generic “seemed like a quiet family” or “they loved their kids” pseudo-comments. Today all the easy pickings were probably peering out their front windows, curious, but staying warm. Inside.
    Jane sighed. Time to knock on some doors. Never the best idea, especially not after dark in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Sure, knocking on the right door could get her some info. Knocking on the wrong door could get her in trouble. But a deadline was a deadline, and hers was a quickly evaporating one hour away.
    “Whatcha got?” Hec leaned against the car, waiting for her, arms crossed over his array of cameras. “I