Chapter 21
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Istep off the escalator and into a buzzing homicide division bullpen just in time to watch a brawl break out ten feet from the check-in desk.
Two uniforms, still new and green around the edges, lose control of their cuffed perp as he throws his head back and shatters the first uniform’s nose.
Using his momentum, he charges forward like he’s a three-hundred-pound defensive tackle, and not a hundred-and-forty-pound tweaker desperate for freedom and too stupid to realize he won’t get it. Not today, anyway.
I guess he’s waiving his right to sit down and shut the fuck up.
Noise breaks out, chairs fly, the second uniform sprawls, and two dozen homicide detectives look up from their desks. Bored, not alerted. And then I become the unlucky asshole standing in the tweaker’s way, because he wants the escalator to freedom, and I’m… in front of it.
“Mooooove!” The guy barrels toward me in a pair of tighty-whities, shin-height UGG boots, another man’s blood on his face, and a whole lotta rage. His hands are still cuffed behind his back, and his long, skinny legs sport a few-days-old scrape that reminds me of a similar scar on Minka’s knee.
Which leads me to think about the stitches she so recently took out.
The infusion she didn’t do last night, since she’d already taken that pill.
And then the second pill she took this morning… Since I guess we’re doing that now.
“Motherfucker, get out of my way!” The tweaker sprints with his head down, his chest forward, his ankles rolling with every third step. And though the cop with a broken nose bounds to his feet and screams for him to stop, he doesn’t listen.
Fifteen feet away, his bloodshot eyes lock on mine.
Ten feet away, a ferocious snarl jumps from the depths of his chest.
Five feet away, he bares his teeth like he’s gonna bite me if I don’t move.
Two feet away, I swing out and bury my fist in the center of his neck, flipping the fucker in a full rotation so one UGG flings wildly down the escalators and the second pops straight up into the air.
He slams to the scuffed floor with a deep thud and a few chiropractic adjustments in his back, and then the force of his landing ends with a grunt of air blasting from his rancid-smelling mouth.
And a small toot from the other end.
“Detective!” Uniform Number Two, the one who sprawled, hobbles across the bullpen, wheezing and rubbing his aching chest until, clumsily, he drops to his knees and flips his perp to his belly, revealing a pair of not-so-tighty-whities-anymore. “I’m so sorry, Detective.”
“You’re supposed to maintain control of the people you put in cuffs, Officer.
” I straighten out again and shake my head at the other uniform, the one who’ll get the rest of today off, a medical certificate, and an ice pack to slap against his face.
“He’s clearly pumped on something illegal.
That makes him unpredictable and dangerous. ”
“I know, Detective. I’m sorry.” He jumps to his feet and pulls his guy up with him. “We’re coming on the end of shift, and this one… he just…”
I lift a brow.
He shuts his mouth with a noisy snap.
Spying the name pinned to his uniform and vowing to never let Clay hang with Officer Manzio socially, I ignore Lieutenant Fabian’s door as it slowly creeps open.
I ignore the war room door, too, and the other three-quarters of my current team peeking through the gap.
Bringing my eyes back around to Manzio, I firm my lips and pretend not to see the tweaker tilting off balance.
“If a kid got in his way… or a pregnant woman…” I glance over his shoulder at his officer buddy.
“If anyone else was at the top of that escalator and he ran them over, it’s entirely possible they’d have broken something important. ”
“Yes, Detective.”
“Like their neck.”
He gulps and drops his gaze. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter that you’ve been on shift all night. I don’t give a fuck if you’re tired. It’s your job to stay focused, because this,” I point to the tweaker whose left pupil may be larger than the right, “is what happens when you’re not.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’ve arrested someone dangerous, put them in a cage. If they’re apt to run, chain them down. If they’re flying on something illegal and their actions are unpredictable, it’s still your job to look ahead and predict shit anyway!”
He jumps and trembles. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Now you’re gonna have to take him to the hospital.
” I look at the cop with a shattered nose.
“Get yourself checked, too. Then I want you both to type up the sequence of events that led us here. From arrest to right now. Have it signed off by your CO, and then I want them on my desk so that when I arrive on shift tomorrow morning, I’ve got something to read with my coffee. Understood?”
Contrite, both officers—and their perp—nod.
“Good. Go.” I step around the trio and meet Fletch’s dancing eyes. But I feel Fabian’s glare, too. His questioning stare, so though I wish I could escape into my case, I verge right and meet him by his door. “Lieutenant.”
He simply lifts his chin. “All good over there?”
“Yes, sir. They lost focus, and now they’ll pay the price for it with six hours sitting in the ER next to a dude wearing soiled undies.”
He nods. Then he tips his head toward the war room. “How’s your case coming along?”
“I think I found my guy, sir. Just gotta prove it.”
“You found your guy? Or you and Detective Banks collaborated and came to a conclusion based on the evidence collected so far?”
“Me and Detective Banks.” I drop my gaze, because it’s my turn to be dressed down by a superior.
“We’re hitting forty-eight hours since she was discovered, Lieutenant.
Sixty hours since TOD. We’ve spoken with everyone close to her and excluded all those we deemed appropriate.
On a personal level, you and I both understand why tension exists between us.
But professionally, I feel Detective Banks is a credit to the department, and Officer Clay is fortunate to have been partnered with him.
Banks is thorough in an investigation, detail-oriented, tactical, and sensitive when speaking to the families, and his intuitive questioning has led us to answers I might not have thought to seek if not for him.
” Layer it on, Malone! That motherfucker is your best friend as far as Fabian knows.
“I respect your decision in placing us together on this one, Lieutenant.”
No I don’t! I fucking hate it.
“That was a lot of gushing about a guy I thought you loathed.” He relaxes his stance and folds his arms. He doesn’t smile, exactly, but I swear I catch a small twitch of his lips.
“Only two days since your vic was discovered, and already, you’ve figured it out.
That sure paints you and Detective Banks as quite the dream team, don’t you think? ”
Panic rears up and sets off small explosions in the back of my skull. “Sir?”
“It would seem foolish for me to keep you apart when, evidently, working together has proven so successful.”
Fuckkkkk offfffffff.
“Finish it.” Chuckling, he drops his hands and takes a single step back. “See if you can tie it up before the end of the shift.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Detective?”
I bring my gaze back to his and lift a questioning brow.
“Your warrant arrived a short while ago. I believe Detective Fletcher has already put the call in. You should get your traffic cam footage this morning.”
Electricity pulses in my veins as I turn and look toward the war room. “Good. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
He drops his chin and backs up into his office, so I take off at a run and crash through the war room door to find the massive smart screen taking up half the back wall, and, already, images of Copeland City streets pulled up.
“Nice of you to join us.” Fletch hovers on this side of the long table, his weight settled onto his heels, one hand in his pocket, while the other grips a half-empty coffee mug.
When our eyes meet, he flashes a teasing grin.
“You feeling a little small this week? Had to pick a fight with a dude already having a bad day?”
“He picked a fight with me.” I close the door and shut out the buzzing sounds of an active homicide bullpen, and because it throbs a little, I massage the ache in my hand. “He was running hard, too. Hurt myself hitting him.”
He snorts. “Sure is a hard life. Fabian tell you we got our warrant?”
“Yep. Find Josey’s car yet?”
“We’re only just getting started, Detective.” Officer Clay sits at the head of the table in front of an open laptop that has cords running from it to the wall screen. “We’re gonna go back to where we know she was, according to the last GPS ping her phone sent out, then we’ll follow.”
Drake sits at the very opposite end of the table, his right ankle resting on his left knee, a black Copeland City PD coffee mug in his hand, and an ugly fuckin’ scowl marring his face.
Because he’s an unhappy, sour motherfucker like that.
“Fabian thinks we might be working together a little too well.”
His brow comes up. “What?”
“We’re making solid progress on Josey’s case, and since I thought he wanted to see us getting along, I waxed on a minute ago about how intuitive and clever you are.
I guess he took that as a green light that I actually tolerate your fuckin’ presence, so if we’re not careful, he might think it’s a good idea to make this shit permanent. ”
His lips wrinkle with disgust.
“Exactly. So I’m gonna go back to considering you as important as the water cooler in the corner.”
It chooses this moment exactly to gurgle and send bubbles racing to the surface.