Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller Read Online Free Page A

start at the beginning again,’’ Brant said without a hint of irony in his voice. ``You okay over there, Sanchez? I’m going to take a couple snaps.’’
      The uniformed officer cradled a flip phone between his shoulder and left ear. Finishing the conversation, he snapped the phone closed and returned it to his back pocket. ``You got two minutes, sir. Cavalry’s on the way.’’
      Brant stepped back from the body for a vantage point that would afford a better view. As he’d seen on their arrival, she’d been placed on a mattress of collapsed cardboard boxes. Other than that, there was little to go on. No handbag. No briefcase.  
      Brant took out his cellphone, aimed and began firing off a succession of photographs.
      ``Looking for anything in particular?’’ Clatterback asked.
      ``Notice anything?’’ Brant asked, answering the question with one of his own.
      Clatterback hesitated as he considered how to answer. ``What am I supposed to be looking at?’’
      Brant rolled his eyes in frustration.  
      ``Her outfit. Those shoes.’’ Brant crouched for a better shot.  
      ``What about them?’’
      ``They’re newly bought. No wear.’’
      With thumb and forefinger, Brant zoomed in on the woman’s left foot.
      ``Okay, so she bought new shoes. Find me a woman in this city who doesn’t buy at least one pair of shoes every month. Women and shoes. It’s a thing.’’
      Brant shrugged. ``Maybe.’’
      ``What? You think there’s more?’’
      ``You say women and shoes are a thing, eh? Well, that’s true in a sense. Patronizing and misogynistic, maybe, but partly true.’’
      ``Misogynistic?’’
      ``It’s a word. Look it up.’’
      Brant showed him the screen on his cell and the photo he’d taken moments before.
      ``Jimmy Choo. I recognize them because my wife, Maggie, used to own a pair. They were a gift from daddy. I’m betting these cost about $1,400.’’
      ``So she had expensive taste in shoes. I don’t see how that’s much help.’’
       Brant positioned his phone for a second time and quickly snapped a picture of the woman’s face.    
      At his back, Sanchez had begun waving his arms, gesticulating toward the other side of the square and the public library. Three unmarked cars had pulled up.  
      Brant tapped an icon on his phone’s touchscreen. The messaging app sprang to life.
      ``Give me your cell number.’’
    Clatterback did as he was told without protest.
      ``I’m sending you a text with a picture of the shoes and the girl. Start circulating them among shopkeepers. I’m guessing boutiques. Probably downtown or in the vicinity of the major hotels. It’s a long shot, but worth the effort.’’
      ``Sounds like a lot of time for nothing if you ask me.’’
      ``I didn’t ask you. Also, work with Sanchez. Let’s get an interview list. Start going door to door if you need to. I want to talk to everyone. The guy that runs the hot dog stand on the other side of the square. The Coke delivery guy. The guy behind the counter at the CVS place. Pull the CCTV footage. Someone around here knows something. I want to know what they saw and when.’’
         

C HAPTER F IVE

    The day was coming to an end. The car had been returned to the pool and a preliminary report had been filed with Jolly.
      The squad room was on autopilot. A television tuned to a local cable news channel droned in one corner. Tate had long gone. A junior investigator sat behind a mound of paperwork, shuffling one file from an inbox to a tray on the other side of her desk. Two uniforms had claimed desk space near the printers. The talk was of budget cuts, the travesty that was this season’s Boston Red Sox, and the hope that the Bruins would reclaim at least a semblance of the city’s proud sporting heritage.
    Brant checked his email. Satisfied he’d missed nothing, he logged off. Ben needed picking up from daycare and he had just about enough time to get across