“Wait, his name starts with M. I thought those files were stolen.”
“They were. This is a copy of the psych eval King sent to Personnel. The report that got him discharged from the department,” she said as she continued to read. “‘Detective Maloney exhibits the classic signs of PPD, including repressed anger, cognitive dissonance, rage, unjustified blaming, impulsively violent behavior, and oversuspicious projection.’”
Rook cupped a hand over one ear, announcer style. “If your projection lasts more than four hours, consult a physician.”
“Come on, Tim, you were on the job, just like us,” said Ochoa, playing the blue card. “You know where this is going, so give it up now.”
“Just like you,” Maloney repeated with disdain. “You mean they hired me from the sidewalk outside Home Depot to fill a quota, too?”
Raley slid in. “When was the last time you fired one of your weapons?”
“Your peons did my paraffin test. You tell me.”
“What about your guns? Where are they?” countered Ochoa.
Maloney wagged his palms with a jangle of chain links, then let them drop. “I want the lady cop. The captain. I want someone with rank.”
The risk of giving him what he wanted was that it would empower him and feed the beast. The potential advantage was that it might shake something loose if he did feel he had some leverage. Heat tagged in; Roach tagged out.
She began in silence, immersing herself in his file, letting the hunger for validation he had just exhibited push him to talk. Five minutes can be a long time in a room. But at last, her tactic did its work.
“So, was that your boyfriend?” Maloney said. “The one I let take me down?”
“Perceptive.” Then she poked at him. “I bet you miss being a detective.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
“Sore spot? Not surprised. All those years out the window?” She could see a hint of turmoil fermenting under the surface pose of arrogance and dug at it. Her approach was to knock Maloney down off his stone wall by using his own volatility against him. Nikki glanced at the file and chuckled, shaking her head. “And you never made it above grade three. What’s that about?”
“You know what that’s about.”
“How would I?”
“Because you’re with them.”
“Please.”
“Don’t deny it. That’s the way it always comes down. Lies get put in my file, and I have to sit and deal with the bullshit. My loot had it out for me, and now you’re taking it all on his word.”
“Your loot. You mean…” Heat ran her finger to a signature on the page. “Lieutenant Branch?”
“Asshole tanked my whole goddamned career.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The fuck I know. He just got it in his head I rubbed him wrong and he started jerking my shifts around, like putting me on the cabaret shift just when I got a new girlfriend. He wanted to ruin my love life, so he put me on the eight P.M. to four-thirty A.M., and it worked.”
“Why would he want to ruin your relationship?”
“And then when I called him on it, everything I did started getting written up.”
Nikki consulted the file again. “You mean like these excessive force complaints?”
“The lieutenant fed them that. Told them what to say. He even worked out a secret set of hand signals. They did what he said, and guess who’s taking the weight.”
“You want me to believe that your loot fed false information to three different citizens? Using secret hand signals?”
Maloney slammed a palm of the tabletop. “See? You’re one of them. Everyone I talk to in this department means one more screwing.”
“Did that include Lon King?”
“Fucker double-tapped my career.”
“So you tapped him?” Heat’s strategy had been working so well, building the pace steadily, encouraging Maloney’s recklessness and eliciting knee-jerk emotional blurts from him, making him careless.