The Thousand - Kevin Guilfoile [130]
“Did you see this?” He nodded at the television news, volume down.
“What?”
“Looks like a whole bunch of your old neighbors have moved into the park because their apartments are so hot. They’re pitching tents. It’s like a goddamn Yuppie refugee camp.”
“They should call them ‘Whole Foogees.’” She giggled. He rubbed her side absently and she reciprocated along his forearm. He smiled at the thought of her staying for the duration of the blackout. “Let me ask you something,” he said after a minute.
“Yeah.”
“What do you think of your boss?”
“You mean Reggie? Why?”
“Just curious.”
“You probably know him better than I do.”
“I don’t think anyone knows him better than anyone else,” Bobby said. “That’s why he’s a good lawyer.”
She laughed. “That’s probably true. Kind of sad, though.”
“So what do you think?”
“I think I admire him. I don’t know.” She pulled the sheet up with unnecessary modesty. “He’s nice. He’s smart. Kind of aloof, but he puts up with my shit. I learn a lot.”
Bobby blurted it out. “He’s been hiding something.”
“Like what?”
“I knew something wasn’t right the night Gold was killed. Reggie seemed to be cooperating, but you could tell he was holding back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had forgotten, but it was in my old notes. He had a briefcase with him. He wouldn’t let me look in it. We even talked about getting a judge to compel him, but the state’s attorney put the kibosh on it.”
“Duh. Lawyers don’t let cops paw their files.”
“I looked at the forensics report today. First time in ten years.”
“I thought you were suspended.”
“So I got time. First thing I notice, Solomon Gold had one of those things.” He pointed to his chest. “Those pacemakers for your brain.”
Della lifted her head upright. “Solomon Gold had a neurostimulator?”
“Right.”
“You didn’t catch that the first time around?”
Kloska raised his hands like a captured shithead. “It wasn’t relevant to the fatal gunshot. It was just a general health notation the ME wrote down, like height and weight and condition of his bladder or whatever. Lots of people have those things. It didn’t mean anything until now.”
“It’s another connection between him and Marlena Falcone.”
“Not that we needed another one.”
“Did Falcone do the procedure?”
Kloska frowned. “I’d know that if Dr. Dickwad at Executive Concierge would let me see her files. He’s put a tourniquet on this way up at the state’s attorney’s office.”
“Did you ask Elizabeth Gold?”
“Won’t talk to me without her lawyer.”
“Ask Reggie.”
“He’s a little pissed at me right now.”
Della blew the stale air out of her lungs. “What did you do?”
Kloska waved. “It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t officially question Elizabeth Gold anyway while I’m suspended.”
“What did Solomon have the device for? Was he sick?”
Kloska laughed. “The ME didn’t say, and I doubt anyone could tell by looking at it. The neurothingy is buried along with Gold, so without an exhumation order I’m not going to get my hands on it. But weren’t some of those devices bad? Weren’t they making people go crazy? There were suicides, right?”
Della rolled onto her back, a sign of either waning interest or thoughtfulness. “Some. Only the ones for ADD, I think. I don’t think they ever proved a connection or anything. I mean they still use them for all kinds of stuff.”
“Maybe Solomon’s neurothingy made him go psycho and that’s why he killed Erica Liu.”
“That’s a stretch, babe.”
Kloska pulled the sheet over his hip. “Here’s something else. There was gunshot residue on Reggie’s hands.”
“Yeah, and on his clothes and in his hair and on the carpet.”
Bobby pulled his head back by millimeters. “You really are a geek for this case.”
She shook her head, bangs waving. “Taking a forensics class. Gunshot residue goes everywhere, on everything. Especially