Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) Read Free Page A

they descended the stairs into the warmth of the bowling alley, Livana grabbed his hand and pulled him to the side. “What are you not saying?”
    Basil looked up at the cop, who was now about twenty yards away. “What do you mean?”
    “There’s something you didn’t tell the officer.”
    “I told him everything I know.”
    Livana examined his face a moment, then said, “I’m going to check on the kids, make sure they’re okay.” She shook her head in disgust, then headed off to find the children.
    WHEN LIVANA RETURNED, the officers were standing behind Basil, handcuffing him. Fedor appeared to be objecting, to no avail.
    “What are you doing?” she yelled.
    Kennedy grasped Basil by the arm and turned him around. “Taking him in for more questioning.”
    “But you’re arresting him. He didn’t do anything wrong!”
    “This ain’t right,” Basil said.
    Kennedy frowned. “Your husband assaulted the other man. Whether or not it was justified, or self-defense, or whatever, I don’t know yet.”
    Livana looked at Fedor, then back at the officer. “Maybe—maybe someone else saw what happened. Did you talk to everyone here?”
    “I don’t need you tellin’ me how to do my job. I talked to everyone there is to talk to. And there’s a discrepancy as to what went on before you walked in. We’ll sort it out at the precinct.”
    “I told you what happened,” Basil said.
    “But Mr. Persephone has a different story. So does his wife. And the woman behind the desk doesn’t remember hearing what you heard. Like I said, we gotta sort this out. Not gonna do that inside a loud bowling alley.”
    “I’ll take the kids home,” Fedor said. “You go along, make sure Basil’s okay.”
    Livana headed back to the lanes to gather their coats, frustrated at how a family outing ended on the brink of disaster, all stemming from a stupid incident that ensnared her husband.
    But she could not know that this night, and the events that were to come, would forever alter their lives.

3
    >230 EAST 21st STREET
    Manhattan
    Wednesday, July 5, 1995
    Karen Vail could not get comfortable. Her stiff new uniform was not tailored to fit a female body, or at least not her body. But she could stand some discomfort because Vail had graduated from the police academy at the top of her class.
    Although some of the guys had a problem with that, she did her best to shrug it off. It’s 1995, assholes. Get over it. This isn’t your grandfather’s NYPD. A woman can be smarter than a man.
    Seated next to her in the Ford was a seasoned homicide detective, Sergeant Carmine Russo. It was unusual, if not unheard of, for such an assignment, but Vail had remarked to one of her instructors, Deputy Inspector Isidore Proschetta, that it was her career goal to become a homicide detective, and it’d be really great if she could find a detective who’d take her under his wing, show her how things worked. Proschetta liked her—he told her to call him by the nickname his best friend had given him during his academy days: Protch. Her instincts told her that Protch wanted her to get on top of his crotch , but she kept him at a safe distance, so it hadn’t become an issue. Yet.
    Regardless, she figured Proschetta said something to someone, pulled a few strings, hummed a few bars, played his organ or someone else’s—she didn’t care—because he somehow got her this gig with Russo. In department parlance, she had a “rabbi,” someone who looked after her interests and helped advance her career. She wasn’t complaining; she wasn’t even planning to bring it up. In essence, she was not going to look under the gift rabbi’s yarmulke.
    “Your uniform,” Russo said. “It looks very crisp. Very new.”
    “Thank-you, sir.”
    “Yeah, don’t thank me. You shouldn’t be wearing it. You should be in plainclothes.”
    Vail swung her gaze toward Russo. “Plain—uh, no one said any—”
    “It’s okay,” Russo said. “Tomorrow, no uniform. Got