Glass Houses Read Online Free

landed on an abandoned coffee cup resting on a planter. Next to it was a folded newspaper. He turned back to George.
    â€œWhen was the last time Craig came to a crime scene?” said Thom.
    â€œOne of ours?” said George. “Never.”
    â€œExactly. And why were S&M dispatched?”
    â€œThey were on the callout board.”
    â€œThen Craig arrived and changed it up?” Thom took a step aside so that George had eyes on the front door. “Over my shoulder. Two-o’clock.”
    George flicked his eyes and hissed. “Birdie’s article?”
    â€œThe department has clear written policies about conflict of interest,” said Thom.
    â€œThe rules are up for interpretation when lawyers get involved at the trial stage.”
    â€œBut when an officer needs to be excused because of the potential, the department usually errs on the safe side. Craig knows this more than anyone.”
    â€œWhich is why it doesn’t make sense. What’s his game?”
    Thom shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    He looked out on the city of his birth. The city where he worked. The city where he lived. The city he loved. He knew he was in mud and had a sick feeling he might be on the verge of losing something he’d always taken for granted.
    â€œWell,” he said, in a self-aware way, “we work it squeaky clean. You take the girl. I’ll take the house.” And with that he turned away and then—almost as an aside—he whispered, “I think I’m being screwed.”
    â€œAnd me along with you,” said George.

six
    Detective George Silva leaned into the backseat of the black-and-white and said, “It’s cramped in there. Come out and get some fresh air.”
    Keen green eyes looked up at him. Other than pink gloss on her lips, her skin was makeup free. She offered her hand for assistance. When George didn’t oblige, she shrugged and wiggled out on her own.
    â€œI’m Detective Silva,” he said.
    â€œLena Shkatova.”
    â€œRussian?”
    â€œOn my father’s side. Can I sit?”
    â€œOf course.” George gestured toward the hood of the car. Lena tried several leaning positions before settling on one she liked. She smoothed the crown of her long, blond hair.
    â€œCan I smoke?” she said.
    â€œIf you wish.”
    Slender fingers reached into her back pocket and pulled out a slim cloisonné case. She popped it open and George glanced inside: six cigarettes, a book of matches, and a lip gloss. She stuck a cigarette between her lips and struck a match. She met George’s eyes through the flame and took a single seductive pull.
    George felt it as a tickle in his stomach. If only this were another time, another place, another circumstance.
    â€œHow long have you been in the United States?” he said. All busi ness.
    â€œSince I am eight,” she said, exhaling. “My parents die when I am ten. I go to house for girls with no family. I am naughty and get trouble, but they let me stay. This is where Dom found me when I am thirteen. He brought me here. It is not improvement.”
    â€œWhat kind of trouble?”
    â€œCurfew, smoking, stealing. Boys .”
    â€œWhat was the name of the home?”
    â€œCompass. It is orphanage in Rosemead.”
    â€œSo the Lawrence’s are …?”
    â€œFoster parents.”
    George gave Jelena’s license one last look before handing it to her. She was twenty-two. Much younger than Thom’s usual. “Lena is your nickname?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt states this as your address.”
    â€œI move two months ago, but have not changed license. Now I live at apartment. Downtown with other girls. It is near library. Close to work at courthouse.”
    â€œAddress.”
    â€œSix-twelve Flower. Between Wilshire and Sixth. Pegasus apartments.”
    George wrote it down and check-marked courthouse .
    â€œCan you tell me what