MOSAICS: A Thriller Read Online Free Page A

she’d done a good job at hiding it. The sheets smelled freshly washed.
    The next door led to her home office, a small carpeted room with a couple of white bookcases, a table with a desktop and printer, a metal chair, and, on the opposite side, a futon, a laundry basket, and an ironing table folded against the wall. Through the window, the hills of Montecito Heights glowed against the evening sky, a wavy fabric of glimmering lights.
    I inhaled. The bookshelves were crammed with medical books, the desk buried under stacks of papers.
    The sweet, foul smell of the tiles …
    I sat at the desk, checked the drawers, sniffed the keyboard, then the computer screen.
    Not here. Close, though.
    The papers . He went through the pile of papers.
    I rummaged through the folders not knowing what to look for, just tailgating a smell. Gloved fingers had brushed through printouts and graphs, tables, essays, research proposals…
    Did he find what he was looking for ? And if so, what ?
    Article after article of scientific jargon, each title some random permutation of the words immunodeficiency, vaccine, study design, therapy, antiretroviral.
    “What are you gonna see in the dark?”
    By the office door, Satish flipped the light switch.
    “Smells.”
    “On paper?”
    “Yeah. And patterns, too,” I said. I sniffed the top right corner of every paper in the pile. I could follow the gloved fingers searching through the stack, most likely a left thumb holding up the top ones so he could read the titles, and a right index flipping through. Until the trace stopped.
    He found what he was looking for. Probably took it with him.
    I inhaled and gave one last look around. Everything else seemed untouched. “What did Gomez have to say?”
    Satish wobbled his head. “Autopsy’s scheduled for Thursday morning. Just got an invitation. Wanna join the party?”
    He smiled. Waited.
    Amy Liu smiled too, from a silver frame on her desk, a man’s hand draped over her shoulder, and a strand of black hair blowing across her face.
    “Fine,” I said, walking past him out of the room. “I’ll keep you company on Thursday, but—”
    “Uh-uh, Track.” He switched the lights off and followed me back to the foyer. “First things first. Tomorrow you pee in a cup and get your LAPD badge back.”
    “I pee in a what?”
    We locked the house and made sure the yellow crime scene tape was back in place. Outside, the air was tainted with a hint of humidity and the scent of jacaranda blooms. A handful of pale stars dotted the sky, the glow of downtown beneath them like a disoriented dawn. A broken streetlight strobed from farther down the street. The Latino music persisted.
    Yo sufrí mucho por ti, mi corazon …
    Satish unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. “Union mandated drug test. Your leave of absence was longer than ninety days. Welcome back to regulations, Detective Presius.”
    I made a face.
    “Look at it this way. Whoever handles those cups has it way worse than you.” He started the engine and backed out of the driveway. “Shit happens, Track. Never forget that.”
    “Hard to forget on days like this.”
    I rolled down the window and let cool air blow in my face. The freeway droned in the distance, as another night descended upon Los Angeles. Another murder, another killer on the loose.
    It was June 2009, the beginning of summer.
    Killing season had just started.
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    TWO
    ____________
     
    I left my Charger in the driveway, clambered out, and smelled freshly baked lahmajoun —Armenian pizza. It came from a white plastic bag hanging by the door. Besides the Armenian pizza, wrapped in paper, the bag contained a yellow envelope.
    Will jumped on me as I unlocked the door, yapping and licking. I set the lahmajoun on the kitchen counter and tore open the yellow envelope. Inside was the picture of a sixty-something lady, proudly smiling in front of a water fountain. The back read, “Please find her. SKL,”