Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) Read Online Free

chronograph.”
    “Seamaster?” 
    “Yeah.”
    “New?”
    “Doesn’t look it.”
    Leopold turned down a side street, heading away from the crowds. “How’s his skin?”
    “What?” 
    “How’s his skin? Any redness, scars, tattoos?” 
    “A couple of tattoos on his forearms. Skin looks fine. Pretty good, actually.” 
    “Look closer at the tattoos. Any swelling or redness?” 
    There was a rustling noise and Mary came back on the line. “There’s some slight inflammation around the inner arm, just near the outline. What are you thinking?”
    “Hair?”
    “His hair?”
    Up ahead, Leopold spotted a Cuban restaurant. He quickened his pace. “Yes, his hair. How is it styled?”
    “It’s black. Short, clipped, very neat. A little too much gel.” 
    “Okay, so we’re not dealing with a gangbanger.”
    “How’s that?”
    Leopold reached the restaurant and stopped, glancing at the menu in the window. “It’s not unusual for gang members to wear expensive watches, but they rarely have such good taste. Redness around the tattoos suggest they’re recent. Looks like someone’s playing criminal.” 
    “What are you saying?” 
    “This guy didn’t even have chance to draw his weapon. Even the most violent gangs have honor codes. They wouldn’t shoot someone in the back, not unless it’s some kind of revenge killing. Why would they want this guy dead? Either he’s on the take, or he’s playing for the wrong team. If he’s had the tattoos done recently, chances are he’s trying to fit in where he doesn’t belong.” Leopold opened the restaurant door, the scent of smoked paprika and fried potatoes wafting out into the open air. “Run his prints through the internal Vice database. I bet you they’re one man down.” 
    “You think he’s a narc?” 
    “If the glove fits.” 
    Mary sighed. “How about we wait for the forensics team to get here and find some actual evidence?”
    “Be my guest,” said Leopold. “But, like you said, you’ll be there all day.”
    “Thanks for reminding me.”
    “Tell you what. If I’m right, meet me for dinner.”
    “And if you’re wrong?” 
    Leopold smiled. “There’s a first time for everything.” He hung up.
    Stepping inside the restaurant, the sounds of the busy streets outside quickly faded behind him, replaced by the gentle notes of jazz guitar from the stereo. Rich smells from the kitchen made his stomach growl, and Leopold was only too eager to find a table. He settled for a booth in the corner, with a clear view of the front door, and waved one of the waitresses over. She took his order and brought him a cold bottle of Bucanero beer.
    Leopold settled into his booth and took a deep swig of his drink. Things were looking a little better already.

Chapter 3

     
     
    THE STUDIO RENTAL apartment was empty except for spools of wire, toolboxes, and a small wooden crate that had been pried open and nailed closed again. A small folding table sat off to one side with two chairs, several sheets of schematics and copies of archival blue prints stacked on top. An overflowing ashtray sat in the middle of it all, two cups of tea leaving stains on sheets of paper. Two Korean men sat smoking, poring over the documents, making notes. One of the men shoved the papers around, looking for something.
    “We need to get this organized,” he told the other. “We’re running out of time.” Mid-forties, his black-and-gray brush-cut hair hadn’t been combed or washed in days, his face peppered with coarse stubble. He took a drag from a cigarette and washed it down with tea. Grabbing a computer printout from the mess, he studied the letterhead. Across the top of the paper, the words “Washington State Convention Center” were printed in large type, hand-written Korean translations jotted here and there. He rubbed his face and dropped the cigarette in his cup.
    “The hotel and convention center use entirely separate ventilation systems,” he said to his younger