Invisible City by Julia Dahl

Author:Julia Dahl [Dahl, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9781466841918
Google: jm9-AgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00GL3XIX6
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2014-05-06T00:00:00+00:00

SUNDAY

CHAPTER EIGHT

I don’t sleep well. I wake up around six and my stomach is going. Rivka Mendelssohn’s body was in my dream. I had to carry it somewhere, but I was wearing knit gloves that kept getting caught in the sticky open wounds. My first full thought after I open my eyes is that I have to get out of this. I have to call Saul and make up an excuse and just go back to running where the city desk tells me. I get a pill from my bedside and swallow it. I know, even as I’m trying to figure a way out of it, that my job, or rather, the job I want, the job I’ve trained for, is exactly what I’m being asked to do. Not solving homicides, but telling true stories. Finding sources other people can’t find and using those sources to reveal things other people aren’t revealing is exactly what I’m supposed to do. The story of a homicide being overlooked because a powerful, insular community doesn’t want attention is a great story. The problem is that one thing I’m very definitely not supposed to do is help interested parties further their agendas. We may not have had much in the way of ethics training in school, but I definitely remember that. Agendas are what separate journalists from PR people: they have clients; we have sources, subjects. And solving this murder, at this point, is Saul’s agenda. I need to figure out how to make it mine, too.

I open my eyes again around noon to a chalky white sky. Rivka Mendelssohn’s body was in my dream again. She was lying on the metal slab, but this time she was alive, and I said to her, “Wait, I thought you were dead? How did you survive?” And she said, “It’s all a big mistake, honey.” And then she sat up, suddenly fully dressed, but still bald and bruised and bloody around her face, hopped off the slab, and knelt down to lace up a pair of sneakers. “Do you run?” she asked me. And then she took off, without waiting for an answer.

At about 1 P.M., I get out of bed. Iris has left a note saying she’s at yoga, so I make coffee and pull up the Tribune’s Web site on my laptop. Porn mom is splitting the front page with the latest round of health department raids at city restaurants. Brooklyn’s queen of cannoli, a fifty-year-old steakhouse near Grand Central, two noodle shops on the Upper East Side, and about a dozen other well-known places were shuttered yesterday for failing inspections. I scroll down, past an article about a Yankee threatening to pull out of contract negotiations, another about whether the mayor did or did not imply he might close sixteen firehouses within the year, and another about two Child Protective Services workers who say they were disciplined for “speaking out” about turmoil inside the agency.

Nine stories down, I find her:

POLICE QUESTION GARDENER IN

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