along his arm to the sleeve of his white T-shirt. Itâs what I didnât see that finally grabbed my attention.
When a bullet is fired into human flesh, small drops of blood and minute bits of tissue are propelled backward, in the direction from which the bullet came. If the Broom had been holding the gun to his head, there should have been blowback on his hand, his wrist, the T-shirt. But there wasnât, at least none I could see.
âAnybody test for blood?â I finally asked Adele. âOn Szarekâs right hand and wrist?â
âThe assistant medical examiner who performed the autopsy. It was negative.â
âWhat about gunpowder residue and nitrates?â
âThose tests were also negative.â
The information was designed to set off alarm bells. No blowback? OK, I could live with that. No residue? I could live with that as well, though my suspicions would be aroused. But the absence of any physical evidence demonstrating that Szarek held the gun to his own head was a red flag that could not be dismissed.
I gathered the photos and passed them to Adele. âTwo questions. First, howâd you get the photos? Second, did Lieutenant Bill Sarney authorize us to investigate Szarekâs death?â
âI got the photos and the reports from a friend of a friend at the 94 th Precinct. The lead detective on the case, by the way, was a lazy asshole named Mark Winnman. Mark was happy to go along when the medical examiner reported manner of death as probable suicide.â
âDid you bring up the lab findings with Detective Winnman?â
âI did, and guess what? By the time the reports came in two weeks later, the case was closed. Winnman, he didnât even read them.â
âJust stuck âem in the file and forgot about âem? That how it went?â When Adele responded with an amused smile, I continued. âBut you didnât answer the other question, partner. Did you tell Sarney you were gonna check out Szarekâs death before you did it?â
She shook her head.
âHow about afterwards?â
âAfterwards, yes. I brought the photos and the lab reports to his attention.â
âAnd how did he react?â
âBadly.â
I took a moment to get my temper under control, but I couldnât shake the feeling that partnering was a one-way street for Adele. âSo whatâs it gonna be?â I finally asked. âGames all the way down the line? Because youâre acting here as if I donât exist.â I silenced her reply with a wave of my hand. âWhat you do reflects on me. I canât say it any plainer than that. Your consequences are my consequences.â
Adele looked at me for a moment, her eyes progressively hardening, and I realized that her thirst for justice would always come before her loyalty to Harry Corbin. An instant later her words confirmed that insight.
âFeel free to disown me,â she declared, âwhenever you find it convenient. In the meantime, are you ready for dinner? Because Iâve been waiting for you since five oâclock.â
But I wasnât ready, not quite. I took three DD5s from my desk drawer, one each for Beauchamp, Jarazelsky and Dr Nagy, then wrote up meticulous summaries of each of their interviews. When I was finished, I carried them directly to Bill Sarneyâs office. Sarney and I had reached a point in our relationship where, at least in private, I called him by his first name.
I took a chair without asking permission, careful to keep my tone casual as I summarized the fives I tossed on his desk. If Sarney wanted to raise the issue of Szarekâs case file, heâd have to do it himself.
He didnât wait long, only until I shut up a few minutes later. âWhatâs going on with you, Harry?â he asked. âWhy would you expand your investigation to include an ex-cop who committed suicide without telling me in advance? You couldnât
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