“Maybe not so good for you, Detective Lovell.” She had first met the Internal Affairs man three years before in the very office where she stood at that moment. And, as during that first encounter, she now could barely control her anger at him.
A snort of air, his version of a chuckle, came over the line, followed by, “Well, we’ll see about that.” Nikki could picture him. Skeletally skinny, a creased, angular face that belonged to a Triassic flying dinosaur, and so tall, he must have ducked to pass the department’s height requirements. And, like most of his IA pals, not just a bully; a bully with actual clout. No wonder he sounded so unfazed.
From the guest chair, Rook gave Nikki a supportive fist pump, a go-get-’em. She unloaded: about working a homicide with inadequate information that had been withheld by IA; about Lovell usurping her jurisdiction by shaking down her prime suspect without consulting her beforehand or at least informing her of his meddling after the fact; about confiscating Maloney’s weapons without telling anyone, causing lost time and wasted effort; about springing the ex-cop without an advisory. “Basically, Detective, you and your division have made me and my homicide squad spin our wheels and trash day one of our investigation.”
“So what do you want, Heat?”
“Let’s start with an apology.”
After another snort from that pterodactyl nose, he said, “What else you want?”
“Everything you’ve learned.”
“The truth? About the same as you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me, all pissed off.” He covered the mouthpiece of his phone, although Heat could hear him ask for ketchup. When he came back, he said, “Listen, we do what we have to, the way we have to do it. I’m not making any apologies to you or anyone for employing tactics that work.”
“Is that your apology, then?”
“Let’s stay focused. We swooped in, hoping to jam his ass unawares, but he’s a slippery dude. Case in point, that text-message threat. No-traceable to him and, if you read it carefully, contains no threat of specific action.” Heat nodded, recalling how well-parsed his threat to her had been minutes before in the interrogation. “He’s clean on weapons. Of the guns we seized, all are registered. Ballistics is running them now.”
“What do you mean, ‘of the guns’?”
“One’s unaccounted for.”
“Let me guess,” said Heat. “A .22 long rifle with a laser sight.”
“He claims he lost it on a hunting trip.”
“Yeah, during shrink season,” she said.
“Be as mad as you want, Captain, my crew did its job once. We weeded a bad apple off the force. A homicide conviction in a court of law’s going to take a lot more.”
“Well, then help. Stop making my investigation more difficult.”
“We done?” was all he had to say to that.
“One more thing. What else don’t I know? Are there any other crazed cops in Lon King’s practice?”
“You mean besides you?” Then she heard an actual laugh before he hung up.
When she banged the receiver down, Rook crossed his arms and tsk-tsked. “Infernal Affairs. Whatever happened to the left hand knowing what the right hand is doing? One hand washing the other? Where’s the spirit of cooperation? Unity of purpose? And what’s that scary look you’re giving me?”
“Are you hearing yourself? I should get a mop in here, you’re so dripping with irony.”
“What?” He frowned in disbelief. “Certainly you’re not equating the obstructive tactics of those empire builders at Internal Affairs with my reporter’s unfettered pursuit of the truth?”
“You’re hiding behind your journalistic prerogative—
“It’s in the Constitution—”
“Like it provided you some invisible cloak, if such a thing could exist.”
“Oh, they exist, all right.”
“Rook, I’m not talking about Harry Potter.”
“Let us not speak disdainfully of a cultural icon and, all right, my sometime alter ego.”