Pariah Read Free Page A

be a rough ride. But they’re also the reason he doesn’t trust anybody else to get to the
bottom of it.
    He sighs, slowly and heavily, and feels as though he exhales more than just breath.
    He looks around the enclosed space. He guesses that the chain-link fence separating it from the street has been broken for some time, making it an ideal dumping ground. Against the walls are
huge piles of boxes and bags, overflowing with garbage. The air is thick with the stench of rotting food, making Doyle grateful that December is not noted for its muggy nights. The mountains of
junk have converted a perfectly rectangular area into a landscape filled with dark, forbidding recesses.
    Doyle heads back toward the street, conscious of the sea of faces studying him. He pushes through, finds the lieutenant. Franklin is instructing a couple of his men to initiate a door-to-door.
Doyle waits for him to finish before delivering his thoughts.
    ‘The killer’s not somebody Joe knew as a friend, not someone he trusted.’
    ‘Okay. Why?’
    ‘Because a friend could have killed Joe anywhere. He could have talked his way into Joe’s apartment and done it there, or in his car. Anywhere.’
    ‘I’ll give you that. What else?’
    ‘Although the killer wasn’t a close acquaintance, he knew a lot about Joe. Or he was hired by somebody else who knows a lot about Joe.’
    ‘Why so?’
    ‘Because last night was Wednesday. And every Wednesday night, without fail unless he’s on duty, Joe hooks up with some buddies at a bar on First. They sink a few beers and then move
on to a pool hall farther down here on Third Street. At midnight precisely, Joe leaves the pool hall and walks down here, past this lot, and on to the subway station at Houston to catch the F
train.’
    Franklin removes his hands from his pockets and holds them up.
    ‘Wait a minute. That’s kind of a leap. Why does the hitter have to know all that info? Maybe he’s just following Joe around. He sees an opportunity, gets the drop on Joe,
forces him onto the lot and . . . and that’s it.’
    Doyle catches the way that Franklin puts a stop sign on his mental journey past the fence bordering the vacant lot, as if he cannot yet fully accept what has happened to a member of his
squad.
    He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think it went down like that. First of all, Joe wasn’t the kind of guy you just sneak up on, even with a couple beers inside him. Even if he was,
the killer wouldn’t know that. All he would know is that this guy’s a cop, and cops have guns, and cops have street smarts. An amateur or your average stupid mutt might take a chance,
but from what we’ve seen, our hitter was careful. He wouldn’t want to risk this thing blowing up in his face. Besides, we have to fit the pross into this somehow.’
    ‘Yeah, I was wondering about her. Somehow I don’t see Joe as the type to—’
    ‘He wasn’t, and I’m certain that Norm will confirm that. I don’t believe he beat the shit out of her either.’
    Franklin nods, and Doyle can almost hear the wheels turning. ‘So explain to me how Joe ended up like this. If it wasn’t for sex, what was he doing with this girl?’
    ‘Joe had his flashlight and his shield out, right? That means he went in there looking for something, and that he needed to identify himself. Suppose the girl was already in there, that
she’d already been beaten up.’
    ‘Okay, so Joe finds the girl. He tries to help her. He’s distracted. The killer sees an opening . . .’
    ‘No, there’s too much chance involved. I think this was a setup. I think the girl was involved, but not out of choice. That’s why Joe’s at the back of the lot with a
flashlight in his hand. He’s trying to help her, only he doesn’t know he’s just walked right into a trap. He doesn’t know he’s just been led to a spot where nobody on
the street is going to see or hear anything.’
    ‘And that would require the killer to know that Joe was going to