The Path of Silence Read Online Free Page B

would pick him up in my Acura. Mrs. Tavalho had a car and the kids would be picked up by a school bus.
    “Was I named after someone in our family?” Jazz welcomed me to the breakfast table.
    I ignored her question. “I’ll leave you a message on your cell phone before three o’clock, to let you know whether I’m going to be late again today. If I can’t make it home before five, you have the key. Have the sandwich Mrs. Travalho prepared and put in the fridge. I’ll pick up something on my way home—or we’ll order a pizza.”
    “I’ll stay until you make it,” the housekeeper said. “Don’t worry.”
    “My partner and I just fell into a blender. It’s not promising to be something that we can close quickly.”
    “I’ve done my gardening early,” she said. “There’s nothing to do for a while. My family doesn’t need me to pitch in. I don’t mind.”
    I was grateful but it was time to leave the house before the other shoe dropped.
    I made it to the door.
    “There are agencies that help search for kids and parents who want to find each other,” Jasmine’s voice floated after me.
    “Make sure you mind your manners when you’re dealing with agencies and government people, or you won’t get any cooperation,” I said and ran.
    I lived on Dellwood Avenue, just west of Johns Hopkins University. Ken lived further west, on Ulman Avenue. It took me ten minutes to get there. Brenda lived east of the University. Ken claimed that it was a balancing act—and the main reason why they haven’t moved in together after fourteen years of ‘dating.’ It allowed him to see the sunrise and the sunset. I wondered whether he got to see both at the same time.
    We took the 83 downtown, exited at East Fayette and five minutes later, were in our parking lot.
    Our Unit Supervisor, Ernst Miel, had retired in January. The Homicide administration had decided not to fill this position. On an interim basis, we reported to Newton Bourke, one of the three Shift Commanders. He was fifty-three and had learned most of life’s hard lessons from experience, not books or hearsay. His thoughts took the shortest path to become words. Had he not liked to speak his mind, he would have made captain by now. His gruffness was textured with humor and all those who had worked for him over the years, liked him.
    “I heard you struck pay-dirt last night. It’s going to be a long time before you get to wash your car,” Bourke greeted Ken. He continued. “A curious situation. A scorching-hot homicide but it’s yours. I can’t remember when a cold case came back to life, only to leave it in a hurry…or whatever it was Joe had said…victim drowned in his own liquefied tissues. And that’s after his pacemaker slam-dunked him on to the hood of your car,” Bourke nodded at Ken.
    “Did Joe come up with something new?” I murmured.
    Bourke grimaced. “Yes. But I don’t need a medical examiner to get me fired. I can do that by myself well enough. All I have to do is march into Halpern’s office and lay him out with an uppercut. I might even enjoy that. What the hell is a battery-powered micro-shock hammer trigger?”
    I looked at Ken and sighed. “Joe went to catch up on the latest developments in medical journals, probably right after we left. He must have flown over to Hopkins, delivering those tissue and blood samples by hand,” I said.
    “I’m not even going to print out that preliminary report he e-mailed me,” Bourke threatened. “A gadget, similar to a pacemaker, had been implanted in the victim’s chest. This alien marvel contained a triggering device—this battery-powered micro-shock hammer—which, when a signal was given, sparked and blew up the victim’s chest. What kind of immediate cause of death is that?” he demanded.
    “Explosive,” Ken deadpanned.
    “You print out that piece of shit and then fill it with a story that the victim ran around for four years with a bomb planted in his chest and I’ll sign it. But