The Midnight Lock by Jeffery Deaver

Author:Jeffery Deaver [Deaver, Jeffery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-10-26T12:00:00+00:00

42

There but for the grace …

One of the two lead shields on the Alekos Gregorios homicide, Detective Tye Kelly, stood in the double doorway of the old gym, now a homeless shelter, brightly lit and clean but smelling to the back of his nose like disinfectant. Men were the only occupants here. The Department of Homeless Services—a very different DHS than the one that first comes to mind—wanted no trouble. Homeless people were just like homed people with regard to impulse control, or lack thereof. The problem here was that there were no doors you could hide behind and lock.

His partner, the other detective on the case, walked up behind him and looked over the huge room.

“Cleaner than I thought,” Crystal Wilson said, hands on her trim hips. Today, coincidentally, they both wore dark gray suits. Her top was a black sweater, his a powder blue shirt. Each had jet black hair. His was thinning. Hers was done in neat cornrows. Kelly was at first surprised she’d never seen a shelter, but she’d come up in the 112, where there were none.

This one, the Deloitte House, was in a different precinct, west, where there were several official and unofficial shelters.

Wilson said, “It’s bed B-eighty-six.”

He wondered if she’d be thinking the same thing as he, a play on Bingo.

But under the circumstances—the location and their mission at the moment—neither of them acknowledged the thought.

Kelly was aware of the eyes following them and certain hand movements, as things were slipped away. Weapons, drugs and alcohol were forbidden in the shelters of New York City, but that had nothing to do with the reality of weapons, drugs and alcohol—especially in a shelter that was woefully understaffed and featured virtually no security. Still Kelly knew from experience that there was little to be gained from rousts and as long as no one flaunted their contraband, or threatened anyone, then let them be.

Leave them something, Kelly thought.

After all, there but for the grace …

Michael Xavier, his age somewhere from thirty to forty-five, sat on the edge of his bed, chewing his lips—from the antipsychotic drugs—and muttering to himself. He was not alone in this. Xavier was a bulky man. He was in a T-shirt that revealed arms that were both fat and muscular. He had an unruly beard. On his feet were shabby leather shoes. These matched, unlike the footwear of Alekos Gregorios’s killer. But leads had to start somewhere.

Tye Kelly was big and imposing and his brows met in a line. They were arched high above his unsmiling eyes, all of which made him look like an irritated boxer. Wilson was petite and affected a gentle expression, both amused and curious, giving her the appearance of a first-grade teacher, not first-grade gold shield. He let her talk.

“Mr. Xavier, I’m Detective Wilson and this is Detective Kelly.” Badges were displayed. Across the hall came a shout, “Get the fuck out!” But it was apparently directed to something invisible floating near the ceiling.

The man grunted, looked them over and said, “Is what it is.

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