Don't Close Your Eyes (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 1) Read Free Page B

proceed. Dozens of uniformed officers from the local precincts were in attendance. Fifty-ninth Street is the dividing line that separates the seventeenth and nineteenth precincts and as such, patrol cars from both jurisdictions had responded to the call. For some reason, there were Port Authority personnel there as well, although they really had no place in the investigation. Whatever.
    Wendell Johnson, a tram employee, was there and was not looking well at all. The perp had fled the scene and in the process had almost broken Mr. Johnson’s back. The president of the Roosevelt Island Operating Corporation had gotten a call at home and come over from Roosevelt Island by launch; kudos to him. The Roosevelt Island Tramway was a sanctified gem in an otherwise heavily rusted MTA crown. Other than a small mishap with a construction crane a few years back, the tram’s history had been quiet and unremarkable. The RIOC president was looking out for his own.
    Lido and I had to push and claw our way through the crowd just to get a look at the victims. A cop named Dressen had secured the crime scene and was doing a good job of keeping everyone from trampling on it. “Think there are enough cops here?” I asked him.
    Dressen smiled wryly. I like a nice wry smile in the morning. “CYA,” he said.
    “CYA?”
    “Yeah, cover your ass . Jurisdiction is in question,” he said, “so everyone responded to make sure everyone’s fanny is covered. The altercation took place after 3:00 a.m. Try getting a brain trust on the phone at that hour.”
    “Really.” Lido did a quick head count. There were close to fifty of New York’s finest on the platform. “How many do we need?” he asked.
    “How many Kardashians actually have talent?” I replied.
    Dressen winked before stepping aside. “Point well taken.”
    I pulled a pair of latex gloves out of my coat pocket. “Got another pair?” Lido asked.
    “Can’t you remember anything?” I asked, scolding him playfully.
    “Come on, Cha-lee-see .” I liked the fact that he pronounced my name correctly. “Look at the time.”
    “Your memory stinks. I thought you were taking that ginkgo biloba stuff.”
    “I was.”
    “So what happened?” Lido shrugged. Maybe it was too early . . . for him.
    Anyway, I handed Gus an extra pair of gloves. “You’d make a lousy proctologist.” Gus laughed as he pulled them on and snapped the fingers into place. He smiled, probably not so much at the comment but at the image it must have elicited. Penny for your thoughts, big guy.
    The first victim was a guy named Teddy Balto. The entry and exit wounds suggested that Balto had been popped in the back with what looked to me like a 9mm at close range. Obviously close range since we were in a tram cabin and not on a football field. The bullet had entered the lower back and gone through his heart before exiting out the front of the rib cage.
    “Looks like our perp knew how to kill a man,” Lido commented.
    “You’re not kidding, fast and precise.” I tried to imagine the path of the 9mm after it exited Balto’s chest and found it lodged in the steel window seal. Two inches lower and it would have pierced the safety plate glass and disappeared into the East River. I pointed it out to Dressen and asked him to show it to the forensics boys. “Looks like the perp came up behind the conductor and took him out without warning. Poor guy never knew what hit him.”
    “So why didn’t he shoot the woman?” Lido asked.
    “Beats me,” I replied. “Let’s find out.”
    The other victim was a woman in her late thirties or early forties. She was dressed conservatively and tastefully. She wore an Escada pantsuit and had an absolutely divine scarf around her neck. I saw the telltale Hermès signature in the corner; exquisite as were the Manolo Blahnik pumps she sported. It occurred to me that I’d never seen a thousand-dollar pair of shoes before. The victim’s tennis bag was next to her. I riffled through