The Angel Maker - 2 Read Free Page B

remember. That's the electroshock. You see?" She was beginning to frighten him.
    "No," he admitted, "I don't see."
    A commotion at the front door attempted to steal his attention but failed. Daphne's eyes-convincing, terrified, searching, hopeful-held him firmly. "someone cut this girl open and stole her kidney. I'm convinced of it. The electroshock was used to ensure she didn't remember anything about it." Fire filled her eyes. "I can't prove it. Not yet." She placed her hand on her chest. "But I feel it in here. You know that feeling, don't you? I know you do."
    He resented being cornered by her. Yes, he knew that feeling.
    Yes, he had been forced to defend it on a dozen occasions; and no, there was no real sense to it. But this was her feeling, not his, he reminded himself; her case, her instincts, not his.
    "What evidence is there?" he asked coldly.
    She winced. "I'm not an investigator. I can't even take this to Shoswitz until I have something convincing. Hell he's Homicide.
    He may not want it even then: She's alive after all. What do I do? Where do I turn?"
    "The helpless female? I don't buy it."
    She glared. "This young woman was violated in the worst, most heinous sense. Some monster"monster was not a word that Daphne Matthews, the psychologist, often used-"cut her open, reached inside her, and removed an organ-a physical part of her! MY
    God! Phil Shoswitz may be committed more to the dead than the living, but you? After they stole her kidney, they burned her short-term memory with electroshock. Am I getting through?
    Maybe one of them raped her just for fun. Evidence? Do I need probable cause, Sergeant, in order to investigate, or just the suspicion that a crime has been committed?" She stared him down. "Will you help me or not?" she asked, adding, "if for no other reason than as a parent."
    He couldn't help but picture Miles-Einstein, the nickname belonging to his blond, curly haired son-involuntarily under the knife of such a butcher. She interrupted his thoughts. "The electroshock may have done permanent damage to her memory, not to mention her mind: She hears a constant barking."
    "I'm out of the business. I'm off the force. My badge is collecting dust in Shoswitz's drawer."
    "You're on extended leave."
    "That's just Phil's way of holding a carrot out to me, of keeping my chance at twenty alive. That's the way it reads on paper, Daffy, but in here?" he said, repeating her gesture of placing his hand on his chest. "In here, I'm a father and a hack pianist."
    He had never dared speak the words aloud, had seldom even thought them, for he wasn't one to lie, and he couldn't be sure this was the truth: "It's over." It felt sacrilegious to say such a thing. just hearing it spoken confirmed its falsehood.
    He felt a terrifying loss of control, as if hitting a patch of ice on a dangerous curve. it wasn't over, was it? Someone out there had torn the guts out of a young girl. What surprised him most of all was the way he took to it so quickly. He wanted whatever evidence she had. He wanted the pieces of the puzzle.
    He wanted to put a stop to it before it happened again. Cop instincts-she was counting on them. Perhaps it was because the victim was alive.
    A voice-a man's, big and thunderous-reverberated through the club. "Party's over, everyone. No more drinks. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave." Boldt looked over his shoulder expecting to see some drunk on the stage, but instead he saw a crew cut wearing a ten-year-old gray suit and scuffed wingtips with worn heels. A badge hung out of the breast pocket of the suit. Four or five clones of the man swept quickly into the club, fanning out to various responsibilities. It felt like a bank job to Boldt, an organized robbery. But when this guy announced, "Treasury Department," he realized what it was. The man continued, "These premises are being sealed." He repeated loudly over protests, "I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."
    "Your idea?" Boldt asked her, nodding