Cuts Through Bone Read Online Free Page A

years. He and his partner weren’t working the Bowman murder directly, but the older detective collected squad room gossip like a bathroom drain. A bit of everything stuck on him on its way down.
    Inglewood knew Guthrie had called him wanting information. His trade-off was a pitcher and a burger, and finding out why a private D was interested. He quieted when the little man told him he was hired, not curious. He tore up fries and a burger while Landry sipped a beer and tried to avoid looking at Vasquez. Inglewood’s shrewdness showed in how he listened without interrupting, and left off the banter when the conversation turned serious.
    â€œSo you don’t mind if I give a heads-up to Barber?” Inglewood asked. “He caught the squeal, or got it pushed in his lap on account of being prettier than anybody but Landry here. Then he’s our new prima donna, with gold in record time, and like that. So?”
    â€œI don’t see that it’ll hurt,” the little old man said. “I signed in and out of the Tombs today. He’s such a good D, he might catch on to that anyway.”
    Inglewood grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose. He finished his mug and clapped it down on the tabletop like a punctuation mark. “You trust your new girl, Guthrie?” He studied Vasquez.
    â€œI think that’s a compliment—he can see you,” Guthrie said. “But yeah, I trust her. She’s a straight shot. She hangs in there.”
    â€œJust like Wietz,” he said, and chuckled. “You remember the time she got hauled in for bombing that pimp on Lexington with her cannon? That’s a mean woman.” He stared at Vasquez again, his face serious. “All right. This gets out, the rest of your short life is a nightmare. Got it?”
    â€œ Sí, for sure,” she said.
    The detective nodded. “Listen, Guthrie. You’ve talked to your guy. I ain’t. I don’t know what else is going on here. Maybe you do. I do got this much, in this particular case. Your pretty boy had a pretty girl. She was shot with a forty-four. What d’you know, pretty boy owns a forty-four.
    â€œBarber, my prima donna, talks his way into a warrant, and goes and gets pretty boy’s forty-four. The pistol is right where he says he keeps it, locked away safe and sound. The pistol smells like fresh powder. Barber carries it downtown and IRD runs a bullet.
    â€œGuthrie, you know it’s the gun, the same damn forty-four, under your pretty boy’s lock and key. So you talked to him, and he don’t sound guilty. Maybe he’s got two, three more personalities, and one’s the good talker you spent time with. Maybe one of the other ones is GI Ken. Get it? See, Ken and Barbie, and this guy is some military guy. GI Ken, I just made that up.… You don’t like the ring it’s got? Don’t matter. This is him”—the ginger-haired detective’s hand floated above the table, then dropped suddenly—“going down hard.”
    *   *   *
    Guthrie drove on the ride back to the office. Inglewood’s information was a challenge. The little detective trusted his judgment of Olsen, but that wouldn’t be enough to convince the NYPD. The switch caught Vasquez off guard. Guthrie was always relaxed. Even when they had scuffled with the Italians in SoHo over the camera, he didn’t flare up. Now an edge of determination and purpose showed.
    Once they were back in the office, with the building as quiet as a grave around them, Guthrie opened a bag of dirty tricks he had kept hidden. Vasquez thought it was fitting that they were doing it after hours. He had brand-new laptops and phones—not expensive, but good enough for digging. He turned the phones on with names from a Hemingway novel. Then he brought out electronic keys that opened database doors in some unlikely places. He called friends and set up appointments for the next day. She