A Measure of Blood Read Free

door?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI understand you volunteered to take care of the boy for a day.”
    â€œOh, yes. My daughter is very fond of him.”
    â€œHow well did you know Ms. Brown?”
    â€œNot deeply. Only the way you know neighbors when you want to be private and you know they want to be private.”
    â€œDo you know who her relatives are?”
    She shook her head. “I never saw or heard of a mother or father or sister or anything like that.”
    He got a deep pang of foreboding. It would be tough keeping the kid away from Child Services if there were no relatives.
    Just then, Potocki and Dolan arrived. Christie trusted those two maybe beyond all others. John Potocki, a reliable, salt-of-the-earth Pole, forty years old, had amassed a solid history of good work, much of it from his expertise with computers. Artie Dolan, a tidy, muscular African American was the uncontested champ at getting confessions. He turned his dreamy brown eyes on suspects and they gave it up, whatever it was. Dolan had been around for almost as long as Christie. They went way back, sometimes partners, sometimes not, always friends.
    He told Mrs. Panikkar she could go back to her place.
    Dolan entered, saying, “This is going to be a big one.”
    Christie told him, “Yep. You start on this building. All the neighbors up and down. Somebody saw something. Potocki: Step around the lab techs. Pick up everything of interest. Datebooks, calendars, address books, computer, files. Whatever you can find. We need names. We don’t know who was in this woman’s life and we’re going to need all the names we can get. Comb the place.”
    Colleen came back into the room. “DOA. It’s official.”
    He told her, “Call Denman and Hurwitz and have them canvas the neighbors in nearby buildings.”
    Dolan made a half salute. He and Potocki moved on. Potocki touched Colleen’s shoulder on the way out, the only acknowledgment that the bond between them ran deep and serious.
    Christie noted his jealousy flare up at that touch. It was a human emotion and he had to live with it. He couldn’t have all the women. He couldn’t, being the person he was, even have two. And he couldn’t help it that he and Colleen had some kind of connection­. She was Marina’s opposite in appearance with that tousled-on-purpose­ blonde hair. Marina was exotic with long, dark brown hair, almost black. He loved Marina, no question. But Colleen—also no question—crackled the air around her.
    He’d been planning to call in Dr. Panikkar next, but he decided that a very smart kid was probably the better bet. He had the picture pretty clear. The doc was king in his household, not easily interrupted, watched CNN around the clock when he was home, expected his tea on time. Happened to be in the shower when he was called for and not so good at saving lives anyway. “Bring the boy. Matthew.”
    Colleen went out and came back with Matthew, accompanied by the young woman who had been reading to him. The young woman wore jeans and a cotton top that had probably been made in India—it had decorative stitching and tiny beads that sparkled. She was pretty, both westernized and not, interesting. “My name is Oopale,” she said. “I’ve known Matt since he was born.”
    â€œWill you hang on over at your place? I’ll want to talk to you.”
    â€œI will be there.”
    â€œHi Matthew. How about you sit on the sofa with me? I’m a detective and I think you can be very helpful.”
    Matt came to him and slid up on the sofa. His face was tight. His hands were clenched tight. Christie wanted to hug him, to break through, and it was hard to hold back, but he needed to get the boy’s trust first. “Your next-door neighbor seems pretty nice. Is she?” he began with Matt.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you like staying with her?”
    â€œIt’s