When all he had left was a pair of underwear, he hopped out over the edge, grabbing the rope monkeylike, and effortlessly walked himself down.
Kennicott ran over with his gun out and arrived just as Booth got down.
“See, copper, totally unarmed.” He had his bare arms stretched out in front of him. “Here, cuff me in front, give me that cell, and back off. I need to call Phil Cutter, my friggin’ lawyer.”
18
Not one snowflake was left on the ground this morning, but a damp cold rain was falling hard, and dark clouds hung low over the city. Ari Greene put his hands into his overcoat pockets, lowered his head, and walked toward the Tim Hortons.
It was a quarter to nine. Despite the chill in the air, a line of customers spilled out the front door and snaked around the corner. There was a new pile of cards and flowers three times the size of the one he’d had PC Bambridge pack up for the Wilkinsons yesterday. The bright colors of hope were muted by the clouds and rain, but none of the caffeine-craving customers seemed to even notice. Greene was always amazed how quickly life went back to normal at a crime scene once the police had packed up their gear, taken down their yellow tape, and departed. Even after a horrible murder such as this one, which had made the whole city stop and mourn, the relentless flow of commerce shoved everything aside with uncanny speed.
The TV cameras were back in full force. The reporters were interviewing the customers for comments, asking a series of inane questions: “How do you feel about the shooting?” “Are you afraid to come back here?” “What words do you have for the family?”
Greene pulled his scarf tight around his neck. He took his place in line and ten minutes later was inside. Behind the counter, the harried staff worked at breakneck speed. Are they this busy every morning? Greene wondered, until he saw a handwritten sign that hung crookedly from one of the cash registers. It read:
WE THANK YOU MOST LOYAL CUSTOMER
THEREFORE TODAY MAKE SPECIAL OFFER
FREE DONUT WITH COFFEE PURCHASE
PROPRIETORS MR. AND MRS. YUEN
A middle-aged Asian man was behind one of the tills, and a middle-aged Asian woman was behind the other one. All the other employees’ uniforms were dark brown, but theirs were light beige.
Greene’s turn came and he approached the woman. “What you like, sir?” she asked with her head down.
“Mrs. Yuen,” he said.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were ringed with fatigue. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Greene, the officer in charge of this case. I’m glad to see you’re back in business.”
“You do not wear uniform?” Yuen was an unusually large Chinese woman.
“No. I didn’t want to alarm anyone.”
She smiled, as if it were a real effort. Her good manners were battling with her evident exhaustion.
“I need to meet with you and your husband,” he said.
“Fifteen more minute please.” She looked at her watch. “At nine o’clock, line be shorter.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take a tea with milk, no sugar.”
“Which free doughnut?”
Greene shook his head. “Give the next customer two.”
She handed him the tea. “No charge.”
“Yes.” Greene gave her a two-dollar coin and tossed another one in the charity box for a kids’ summer camp.
Just as Mrs. Yuen predicted, at nine o’clock the place emptied out like a schoolyard after the bell had rung. She signaled for one of the employees to take her place at the till, went over to her husband, and tapped him on the shoulder. He was about half a foot shorter than she was. She pointed discreetly at Greene.
The man smiled and motioned to a gap on the far side of the counter.
“Hello, hello,” he said as Greene approached. Mr. Yuen pumped his hand with real enthusiasm. His smile broadened, but he said nothing else.
“My husband English very bad, but he understand everything,” Mrs. Yuen said. “Please come to office in back.”
The office was a cubbyhole, with a small
Kennicott ran over with his gun out and arrived just as Booth got down.
“See, copper, totally unarmed.” He had his bare arms stretched out in front of him. “Here, cuff me in front, give me that cell, and back off. I need to call Phil Cutter, my friggin’ lawyer.”
18
Not one snowflake was left on the ground this morning, but a damp cold rain was falling hard, and dark clouds hung low over the city. Ari Greene put his hands into his overcoat pockets, lowered his head, and walked toward the Tim Hortons.
It was a quarter to nine. Despite the chill in the air, a line of customers spilled out the front door and snaked around the corner. There was a new pile of cards and flowers three times the size of the one he’d had PC Bambridge pack up for the Wilkinsons yesterday. The bright colors of hope were muted by the clouds and rain, but none of the caffeine-craving customers seemed to even notice. Greene was always amazed how quickly life went back to normal at a crime scene once the police had packed up their gear, taken down their yellow tape, and departed. Even after a horrible murder such as this one, which had made the whole city stop and mourn, the relentless flow of commerce shoved everything aside with uncanny speed.
The TV cameras were back in full force. The reporters were interviewing the customers for comments, asking a series of inane questions: “How do you feel about the shooting?” “Are you afraid to come back here?” “What words do you have for the family?”
Greene pulled his scarf tight around his neck. He took his place in line and ten minutes later was inside. Behind the counter, the harried staff worked at breakneck speed. Are they this busy every morning? Greene wondered, until he saw a handwritten sign that hung crookedly from one of the cash registers. It read:
WE THANK YOU MOST LOYAL CUSTOMER
THEREFORE TODAY MAKE SPECIAL OFFER
FREE DONUT WITH COFFEE PURCHASE
PROPRIETORS MR. AND MRS. YUEN
A middle-aged Asian man was behind one of the tills, and a middle-aged Asian woman was behind the other one. All the other employees’ uniforms were dark brown, but theirs were light beige.
Greene’s turn came and he approached the woman. “What you like, sir?” she asked with her head down.
“Mrs. Yuen,” he said.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were ringed with fatigue. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Greene, the officer in charge of this case. I’m glad to see you’re back in business.”
“You do not wear uniform?” Yuen was an unusually large Chinese woman.
“No. I didn’t want to alarm anyone.”
She smiled, as if it were a real effort. Her good manners were battling with her evident exhaustion.
“I need to meet with you and your husband,” he said.
“Fifteen more minute please.” She looked at her watch. “At nine o’clock, line be shorter.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take a tea with milk, no sugar.”
“Which free doughnut?”
Greene shook his head. “Give the next customer two.”
She handed him the tea. “No charge.”
“Yes.” Greene gave her a two-dollar coin and tossed another one in the charity box for a kids’ summer camp.
Just as Mrs. Yuen predicted, at nine o’clock the place emptied out like a schoolyard after the bell had rung. She signaled for one of the employees to take her place at the till, went over to her husband, and tapped him on the shoulder. He was about half a foot shorter than she was. She pointed discreetly at Greene.
The man smiled and motioned to a gap on the far side of the counter.
“Hello, hello,” he said as Greene approached. Mr. Yuen pumped his hand with real enthusiasm. His smile broadened, but he said nothing else.
“My husband English very bad, but he understand everything,” Mrs. Yuen said. “Please come to office in back.”
The office was a cubbyhole, with a small
Similar Books
