The Marble Mask Read Online Free

attitude problem?”
    Neither Sammie nor I said a word, but the question alone told me Kunkle’s name had come up in at least one context in this building.
    After an awkward pause, he added, “I’m not sure what the status is on his application, to be honest. And that’s one part of the process I don’t want to fool with right now—can’t be seen playing favorites.”
    I seriously doubted Willy Kunkle was anyone’s favorite, including mine, and he’d worked on my squad alongside Sammie for years. A recovering alcoholic, he’d beaten his wife before she left him over ten years ago, and he was cynical, sharp-tongued, dismissive of others, and difficult to work with. He was also smart, honest, hard-working, and an excellent cop despite his faults, which made him even harder on himself than he was on others—no small statement. No one aside from Sammie understood what I saw in Willy, or why time after time I’d gone out on a limb to save his career. There was more to it than his simply being good at his job—dozens of others were as capable, and all of them were a hell of a lot more pleasant. But I’d seen value in aiding in his redemption and been rewarded with signs of progress, not the least of which was Willie’s discreet, still largely unknown romantic pairing with Sammie. Childless and a widower, perhaps I wanted for Willy what a parent wants for a troubled but promising son. He had fought off the bottle, learned to control his physical outbursts, dealt with a bullet wound that had left him with a withered, useless left arm, and had been caught being sensitive and considerate when he thought nobody was watching.
    But my leaving the Brattleboro department had threatened that evolution. My old chief, Tony Brandt, while a supportive and considerate boss, had made it clear that without my protection, Willy was a targeted man. Anticipating that, I’d already made the consideration of his VBI application a condition of my own signing on, something the commissioner had agreed to only reluctantly. I’d stressed then that all I was requesting was that the man get the same fair scrutiny we’d all received.
    Allard’s reaction made me realize my request might not have been honored.
    I wasn’t surprised, but I hated to think that all I’d done by helping Kunkle was to perhaps set him up for the hardest fall of all.
    “Who does know what his status is?” I asked. “The commissioner?”
    “He’s head of the selection committee,” Allard answered indirectly.
    I nodded toward the phone on his desk. “Let’s give him a call, then.”
    Bill Allard frowned. He didn’t know Willy Kunkle, as did Commissioner Stanton, but this was not playing ball, as the political vernacular had it. In one stroke, I’d picked a fight and gone over his head before our very first case was a day old—all over a man of dubious pedigree.
    He made the call. Next to me, Sammie was looking as if she wanted to melt into the floor.
    David Stanton didn’t look happy, either, when the three of us filed into his office one flight down five minutes later.
    A tall, skinny man with a mop of thick, tangled hair, he was a keen organizational animal—smart, ambitious, and restless to make his mark. In the early blueprints of what VBI was to be but hadn’t become, Stanton had been slated for a cabinet secretary rating. His failure had dulled his interest in the whole experiment.
    “What’s up?” he asked without preamble, not bothering to shake hands or greet us by name.
    Allard spoke first. “Since the governor caught us flat-footed, we’re trying to cobble together a squad with minimal break-in needs.”
    It was the preferred indirect approach, but I didn’t feel like wasting time any more than Stanton did. I might also have been reacting to his perfunctory tone. “I’d like Willy Kunkle.”
    Bill tried softening the message. “I didn’t know the status of his application.”
    Stanton kept his watchful eyes on me. “He’s in the