“I said I needed to talk.” Detective Heat, the immovable object.
Montrose stared at her from under a thick hedge of furrowed brow. “This is what my life’s come to. Numbers. First they criticize my stats, telling me to step it up, pay my rent. Now they’re sending me these.” The captain lifted the thick spreadsheet off his blotter and let it drop with unmasked contempt. “Target numbers. Micromanaging me. Telling me how many Class C violations to write up this week for blocking sidewalks and littering. Class B summonses, too. Let’s see . . .” He ran his finger along a row. “They want eight seat belt violations and six cell phone tickets. Not five, not seven. Six.
“I don’t make my numbers, they do a number on me. So what’s my choice, fluff my books? Do I tell the uniforms not to take certain robbery or assault reports so the stats don’t work against me? If it doesn’t get written down, it never happened. What do you know, a crime drop in the Twentieth!” He capped his highlighter and tossed it on the desk. It rolled onto the floor, but he made no attempt to stop it. “If you’re determined to interrupt me, sit down.” She took one of the guest chairs and he said, “So how are you going to brighten my already perfect day?”
Nikki knew where to begin. With her goal, simply stated so it wouldn’t get lost. She said, “I want to open the Graf case wider.”
“Did you complete the BDSM checks like I told you?”
“Not yet, but—”
He cut her off. “Then this meeting is over.”
“Captain, with due respect, we’re chasing a foul ball. Promising leads are surfacing and I feel hamstrung not being able to follow them.”
“Such as?”
“OK,” she said, “the money stashed in those cookie tins. Why would you tell me not to reach out to the archdiocese right away?”
“Because it’s not relevant.”
Nikki was struck by his sense of certainty. “How can you know that?”
“Are you questioning the judgment of your commander?”
“It’s a legitimate question, sir.” She made the “sir” carry respect. Nikki wanted her case back, not for him to dig in his heels to prove his rank.
“Your vic was killed in a bondage dungeon—work it.”
“This feels like a roadblock.”
“I said work it.”
She decided to move along, hoping to find an open flank. “I also have a shooting victim with a connection to the priest.”
“And to your negligence for not reporting the tail.”
To Nikki this began feeling like her jujitsu sparring matches with Don. She raised a fact, the captain threw a feint. Heat didn’t take his bait. “We can discuss that later, but let’s not get sidetracked. Father Graf had the phone number of that strip club hidden in his room. Eyewitnesses saw him fighting with the dancer. I want to work that angle, but you have my investigation corralled.”
“You’ll make a fine lieutenant in this department,” he said. “You’re already learning how to shift blame.”
“Excuse me, but I am doing exactly the opposite. I’m taking responsibility. I want you to let me run my case my way.” Since Nikki had made up her mind the night before to reclaim her sense of mission, she pressed onward, making her scariest leap. . . . She addressed the elephant. “What is going on with you, Captain?”
He poked his finger hard enough on the spreadsheet to dimple it. “You know damn well what’s going on with me.”
“I wish I did. I get the pressure,” she said, “I do. But there’s a lot of other stuff I don’t get. Things I’ve observed. Things I’ve learned. And, frankly, it worries me.”