Fiddlers Read Online Free Page A

Loot,� he said, �see if he thinks we can take on another homicide just now.�
    �Oh, sure,� Kramer said, and then casually added, �but he�s familiar with FMU, of course.� And further added, �Which is the case here. You caught your blind guy two days before we caught the omelet lady. So what do you say?� Kramer asked again.
    He knew he had Carella dead to rights on FMU. He was just being polite.
    Carella hoped he�d at least pay for the lunch.
    * * * *
    �Way I understand this,� Parker said, �is we�re now the garbage can of the Detective Division, is that it?�
    There were only five men in the lieutenant�s office and Parker had the floor. He was dressed this Monday afternoon the way he usually dressed for work: like a bum. Unshaven. Blue jeans and a T-shirt. Short-sleeved Hawaiian-print shirt over that, but only to hide the automatic holstered at his right hip.
    �I wouldn�t put it exactly that way,� Carella said.
    �No? Then what does it mean when any murder done with a Glock gets dumped on us?�
    �Not every Glock. Just the ones that match the blind-man kill.�
    �Which we caught,� Lieutenant Byrnes explained again. Bullet-headed, gray-haired, square-jawed, he looked like an older Dick Tracy sitting behind his comer-office desk. �Which means First Man Up prevails,� he explained further.
    �Like I said,� Parker continued, undeterred. �We�re the DD�s garbage can.�
    �How many have there been so far?� Genero asked. Curly-haired, brown-eyed, the youngest man on the squad, he always sounded tentative. Or maybe just stupid.
    �Just two, counting the omelet lady.�
    �That ain�t so many,� Genero said. �Can you run them by us?� he said, trying to sound executive.
    �The blind guy is the one we caught,� Meyer said. �Ten thirty last Wednesday night.�
    Bald and burly, shirtsleeves rolled up and shirt collar open because the squadroom�s air conditioner wasn�t working again on one of the hottest days this June, he hunched over Carella�s desk, consulting the DD report.
    �That would�ve been?�
    �June sixteenth.�
    �Fifty-eight years old. Two in the head,� Meyer said.
    �From a Glock?�
    �A Glock. Apparently, nothing was stolen from him. His wallet still contained a check for three hundred dollars, and a hundred and change in cash, presumably tip money.�
    �And the next one?�
    Carella walked over from the watercooler. He moved like an athlete, though he wasn�t one, his skills limited to stickball when he was a kid growing up in Riverhead. He picked up the Nine-Eight�s report, and studied it again, together with the other detectives this time. Standing side by side, reading the report, the men could have been accountants looking over a client�s weekly payroll report - if only it weren�t for the shoulder holsters.
    And the nine-millimeter Glocks in them.
    Just like the one that killed the omelet lady and the blind guy.
    �Friday night,� Carella said. �Calm�s Point. The Nine-Eight phoned this morning, right after they got a Ballistics match.�
    �Sure, the word�s out,� Parker said. �Dump it on the Eight-Seven.�
    �Perp climbed in the window and shot her while she was cooking an omelet,� Meyer said.
    �What kind of omelet was it?� Genero asked.
    Parker looked at him.
    �I�m curious.�
    �Who was the vic?� Parker asked.
    �Woman named Alicia Hendricks. Fifty-five years old.�
    �Point is,� Byrnes said, �Steve and Meyer can�t handle it alone. We�re looking at overtime here. Two homicides in as many��
    �Like I said, we�re the garbage can here,� Parker said.
    �How do you want us to divvy this, Loot?� Carella asked.
    �I thought Andy and Richard could get on the latest one��
    �Who caught it again?� Genero asked.
    �The Nine-Eight. Detective up there named Kramer.�
    �Like in Seinfeld?�
    �There�s other Kramers in this world, Richard.�
    �Like I didn�t know,