Darker Than Night. John Lutz

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СКАЧАТЬ and Egan.

      Sometimes, when he thought about it, Fedderman caught himself smiling.

      3

      “Ah, it’s Quinn, is it?”

      The man who had spoken stood in the doorway of the West Side walk-up. He was middle-aged and balding, with a long, jowly face, fleshy purple bags beneath somber brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed downturned graying mustache. A big man, but sagging at the middle, he seemed to have been assembled with mismatched body parts so that his expensive tailored blue suit looked like something plucked off the discount rack.

      As only four years had passed, he’d recognized Quinn, and Quinn knew it.

      Quinn didn’t move from where he sat on the threadbare sofa, facing the door. “It is Quinn,” he confirmed unnecessarily to Harley Renz, NYPD assistant chief of police.

      Frank Quinn was a lanky, hard-edged man an inch over six feet, with a twice broken nose, a square jaw, and short-cropped dark hair that wouldn’t stay combed. But what people remembered about him were his eyes, green, flat, cop’s eyes that seemed to know your darkest secrets at a glance. Today was his birthday. He was forty-five. He needed a shave, a fresh shirt, a haircut, new underwear, a new life.

      “You didn’t lock your door,” Renz said, stepping into the tiny, messy apartment. “Aren’t you afraid somebody’s gonna walk in and steal you blind?”

      “To wanna steal anything from here, you’d have to be blind.”

      Renz smiled, which made him look like a dyspeptic bloodhound. Then his expression changed, but he still looked like a dyspeptic bloodhound. “I never told you, but I’m sorry about you and May, the divorce and all. You still see her much? Or the girl? Laura, isn’t it?”

      “Lauri. May doesn’t want to see me. There’s no reason to, except for Lauri. And Lauri isn’t sure what she wants. What she believes about me.”

      “Have you told her your side?”

      “Not lately. May has her ear and keeps telling her what to think. They’re out in L.A. Went there to get away from me.”

      Renz shook his head. “About all you can say in favor of marriage is that it’s an institution. Like prisons and mental hospitals. I was married twenty-six years before my wife ran away with my brother.”

      “I heard about that,” Quinn said. “It was worth a laugh.”

      “Even I can laugh about it now. That’s how things can change in this amazing world. Even your shitty situation could change.”

      Quinn knew what situation Renz meant. Four years ago, Quinn had lost his reputation, his job, and his family, when he’d been unfairly accused of child molestation—the rape of a thirteen-year-old girl. She was a girl he’d never met, much less molested. He knew why he’d been set up. The problem was, he didn’t know how.

      He’d been a good cop, even a great one, widely respected for his toughness and clever approach to cases. He didn’t give up. He didn’t back down. He got results.

      And in the end, he’d been too good a detective not to notice little things during the investigation of a drug dealer’s murder. Quinn had dug deeper, wider, and discovered a network of kickbacks and corruption that involved many of his fellow cops. He was anguished about what he had to do, but he knew, and they knew, that eventually he’d go to internal affairs with his suspicions. Quinn had spoken with his superior officer, Captain Vince Egan, and told him as much.

      But somebody else contacted IA first. About the brutal rape of a young girl in Brooklyn. Quinn had been astounded, but not too afraid at first. He was innocent. The accusation had to be a mistake.

      He was shown a button found at the scene of the crime, and it matched one that was missing from the shirt he’d worn the evening of the rape. Then, astounding him further, the girl picked him out of a lineup, identifying him by size and build and the jagged scar on his right forearm, even though the rapist had worn a stocking mask.

      Quinn knew the accusation wasn’t a mistake. It was a preventative.

      They confiscated his computer from his desk in the squad room, and on it were three suggestive e-mails to this girl he’d never seen. And there was the worst kind of child pornography on the computer’s hard disk.

      It looked bad for Quinn, he was told. And he knew it was bad. He understood the game. He knew what was coming next.

      They were going to show him a way out of his predicament.

      And they did. Retirement with partial pension, or he would be charged with child molestation, the rape of a minor.

      Quinn realized it must have been Egan who’d tipped off the corrupt cops, and who was part of the corruption himself.

      And probably it was the politically savvy Egan who prevented Quinn from being prosecuted, thus keeping a lid on the rot in the NYPD. Quinn, knowing he wasn’t going to be believed anyway, understood the arrangement, the addendum to corruption. He was if nothing else a realist.

      So he preserved his meager pension, but lost his job and everything else.

      Everything.

      He hadn’t known the devastation would be so swift and complete. His reputation, credibility, and marriage were suddenly gone.

      Not only that, he found himself existing only on his partial pension, a pariah unable to find a job or a decent place to live because he was on an unofficial NYPD sexual predator list. Every time he thought he was making progress, word somehow got to whoever controlled his future.

      Whoever had put Quinn down wanted to keep him there.

      After May left, he missed her so much at first that it affected his health. He thought his aching stomach would turn to stone.

      Now, though he thought often of Lauri, he hardly thought of May at all. Renz was right. Things did change.

      Quinn had never cared much for Captain Harley Renz. Ambitious, conniving bastard. He liked to know things about people. To Renz, personal information was like hole cards in a poker game.

      “You been drinking?” Renz asked.

      “No. It’s only ten in the morning. What I am now is fucked up with a headache.”

      Renz drew a tiny white plastic bottle from a pocket and held it out toward Quinn. “Would some ibuprofen help?”

      Quinn glared at him.

      Renz replaced the bottle in his pocket. “This isn’t such a bad neighborhood,” he said, glancing around, “yet this place looks like a roach haven.”

      “The building’s gonna be rehabbed, so the rent’s cheap. Anyway, I’ve hired a decorator.”

      “Johnnie Walker?”

      “Uh-uh. Can’t afford him.”

      “Good fortune might change all that. Might throw you a lifeline of money and regained self-respect.”

      “How СКАЧАТЬ