John Lutz Bundle Read Free

been too good a detective not to notice little things during the investigation of a drug dealer’s murder. Quinn had dug deeper, wider, and discovered a network of kickbacks and corruption that involved many of his fellow cops. He was anguished about what he had to do, but he knew, and they knew, that eventually he’d go to internal affairs with his suspicions. Quinn had spoken with his superior officer, Captain Vince Egan, and told him as much.
    But somebody else contacted IA first. About the brutal rape of a young girl in Brooklyn. Quinn had been astounded, but not too afraid at first. He was innocent. The accusation had to be a mistake.
    He was shown a button found at the scene of the crime, and it matched one that was missing from the shirt he’d worn the evening of the rape. Then, astounding him further, the girl picked him out of a lineup, identifying him by size and build and the jagged scar on his right forearm, even though the rapist had worn a stocking mask.
    Quinn knew the accusation wasn’t a mistake. It was a preventative.
    They confiscated his computer from his desk in the squad room, and on it were three suggestive e-mails to this girl he’d never seen. And there was the worst kind of child pornography on the computer’s hard disk.
    It looked bad for Quinn, he was told. And he knew it was bad. He understood the game. He knew what was coming next.
    They were going to show him a way out of his predicament.
    And they did. Retirement with partial pension, or he would be charged with child molestation, the rape of a minor.
    Quinn realized it must have been Egan who’d tipped off the corrupt cops, and who was part of the corruption himself.
    And probably it was the politically savvy Egan who prevented Quinn from being prosecuted, thus keeping a lid on the rot in the NYPD. Quinn, knowing he wasn’t going to be believed anyway, understood the arrangement, the addendum to corruption. He was if nothing else a realist.
    So he preserved his meager pension, but lost his job and everything else.
    Everything.
    He hadn’t known the devastation would be so swift and complete. His reputation, credibility, and marriage were suddenly gone.
    Not only that, he found himself existing only on his partial pension, a pariah unable to find a job or a decent place to live because he was on an unofficial NYPD sexual predator list. Every time he thought he was making progress, word somehow got to whoever controlled his future.
    Whoever had put Quinn down wanted to keep him there.
    After May left, he missed her so much at first that it affected his health. He thought his aching stomach would turn to stone.
    Now, though he thought often of Lauri, he hardly thought of May at all. Renz was right. Things did change.
    Quinn had never cared much for Captain Harley Renz. Ambitious, conniving bastard. He liked to know things about people. To Renz, personal information was like hole cards in a poker game.
    “You been drinking?” Renz asked.
    “No. It’s only ten in the morning. What I am now is fucked up with a headache.”
    Renz drew a tiny white plastic bottle from a pocket and held it out toward Quinn. “Would some ibuprofen help?”
    Quinn glared at him.
    Renz replaced the bottle in his pocket. “This isn’t such a bad neighborhood,” he said, glancing around, “yet this place looks like a roach haven.”
    “The building’s gonna be rehabbed, so the rent’s cheap. Anyway, I’ve hired a decorator.”
    “Johnnie Walker?”
    “Uh-uh. Can’t afford him.”
    “Good fortune might change all that. Might throw you a lifeline of money and regained self-respect.”
    “How so?”
    “I’m here.”
    “You said it was a roach haven.”
     
    “It’s good to know you’re still a smart-ass,” Renz said. “You’re not completely broken.”
    Quinn watched him settle into the worn-out wing chair across from the worn-out sofa. Renz made a steeple with his fingers, almost as if he were about to pray, a characteristic gesture Quinn