Holgersen gave a dismissive shrug and changed the subject. “Rounds and about. And you know what else? Tarasov just handed us Sabbonnier and Camus on a plate. If Tarasov testifies that Camus and Sabbonnier was witnessed in this holding place, and that’s where they procured the six girls from that big hooded dude, then that pimp bitch and her bodyguard are going so dooooown, man.” He made a sliding motion with his hand.
Maddocks turned into the station lot. “She’s not testifying. But we do have her statement. We can use that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told her she wouldn’t have to testify.” He parked, checked his watch. Almost 10:30 a.m.
Was Angie going to swallow her probation and come into work at eleven?
The thought made him edgy. But right now he needed to brief Flint on the breakthrough with Sophia Tarasov. Holgersen’s theory about the crab was also worth running up the flagpole. If there was anything to it, and given Camus’s allegations about a Russian link to the Hells Angels, this case wasn’t going to last long in the MVPD’s hands. Whatever agency asserted jurisdiction, Maddocks was determined to keep his finger in. For the girls, all younger than his own daughter.
For Sophia Tarasov, who was so damn brave.
And yeah, for Ginny. Maybe this was slightly misplaced, but Maddocks needed justice, retribution, for his kid. In his mind it would balance the scales—he owed his daughter after the Baptist case had nearly cost her life. This is where the Baptist case had led him. He was going to see it all the way through.
Which reminded him—he had to take Ginn to her appointment this afternoon, and he’d promised her a dinner date after. He exited the vehicle with Holgersen, beeped the lock. Drawing his collar up against the blowing rain, he strode toward the station building, his partner’s long legs easily matching his gait.
“If them other barcode girls start talking, too,” Holgersen said, “we might still be able to convince Tarasov to testify down the road.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you start running the sketch of that crab ink through the databases, see if we can positively ID it as Russian crab Mafia insignia.” Maddocks reached for the door handle. “And check out the gang intelligence databases—see what else you can dig up on the Vladivostok connection. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’ve looped Flint in.”
As Maddocks entered the station, Holgersen hung back, stepping under the eaves for a proper smoke. Maddocks was once more assailed by the notion that the odd detective was studying and judging him, using his speech and nicotine habit as a smokescreen. And a buffer to whatever he was hiding.
CHAPTER 20
Angie bought a coffee down the road from the station, and after pulling into the MVPD parking lot, she sat in her car for a moment, gathering up her spine to run the gauntlet, because she could see Holgersen and Harvey Leo from homicide taking a smoke break outside the entrance along with some junior detective whose name she could not recall. She checked her watch—10:56 a.m. She couldn’t delay any longer.
Day one, Pallorino.
Only three hundred and sixty-four more to go.
Stick it out, and you can avail yourself of exclusive law enforcement databases.
Flipping down the visor mirror, she smoothed her hair back, tightened the bun at the nape of her neck, and reached for her coffee. She got out of the Nissan and shut the door, forgetting her uniform hat. Irritated, she opened the back door, snagged the hat off the back seat, and swung her door closed. Hat in one hand, coffee in the other, she strode purposefully toward the MVPD entrance, wind cool against her face, determination fierce in her stomach.
“Palloreeeno, hey, how goes?” Holgersen said, coming forward from under the eaves with a big smile that showed the gap between his front teeth. “Welcome back. I tried to call yous—left a coupla messages—”
“Sorry. Been busy.” She returned his smile with a grimace of her own. All she could think about was how he’d taken her role on the barcode girls investigation, how he’d briefly been her junior partner in sex crimes and was now working hand in hand with Maddocks, who was being positioned for a management role in homicide. It rankled. She shot a quick nod toward Detective Leo and to the young plainclothes with him.
“Nice duds there, Pallorino,” Leo said, taking a long drag on his cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke. “You look just the same as you did on your first day as a rookie.” He took another slow drag, his eyes holding hers. “Well, almost the same. Too bad we can’t turn back time and erase the wrinkles to match the beat cop outfit, eh? Wonder if mine would still fit me. So where they got you working now? Traffic control? Parking tickets?”
“Missed you, too, Leo,” Angie ground out through gritted teeth. “And I doubt you’d fit into yours—you’ve put a few kilos around that girth since you wore it to Hash’s funeral. Guess it’s the whiskey, eh?” She turned her back on him and reached for the handle of the glass door.
“Social media.” He chuckled darkly. “Now there’s a thing. Lone-horse, hot-headed Pallorino who doesn’t play nice with others is now the sweet smiling face of the MVPD, bridging gaps with the public, helping da boys in blue be social?”
She stalled dead in her tracks, then spun abruptly and took two fast strides toward the old detective. The steel toe of her boot caught against a piece of paving. She stumbled, flailing toward Leo as she tried to regain her balance. Her latte burst the lid off the takeout cup and gushed hot, creamy, brown liquid onto Leo’s crotch and down the front of his thighs. He lurched back in shock, his butt hitting the wall. “What the fuck!”
“Oh my goodness,” Angie said sweetly. “I am so sorry, Detective.” She stabbed her hand into her pocket and grabbed the napkin she’d put there when she’d purchased her coffee. She started to dab the napkin at Leo’s wet crotch. “Holgersen, you got another Kleenex for me there?”
Holgersen bent double with laughter, slapping his bony knee like a cartoon.
“Get your fucking hands off my groin.” Leo slapped her arm away, unable to back out of her reach because Angie had cornered him up against the wet concrete wall.
Slowly, Angie came erect. Her mouth tightened. Standing toe to toe with Leo, her eyes level with his, she said quietly, “I can be so clumsy, especially with my sore arm. Gunshot and all. I do hope you have a spare pair of pants in your locker, Detective.”
Wariness crept into his weathered face. He did not move a muscle, and there was little doubt in Angie’s mind that he was suddenly recalling the last time he’d overstepped the line with her at the Flying Pig Bar and Grill and she’d grabbed his balls and squeezed. Hard. “You watch that mouth of yours around me, Leo,” she whispered.
Stepping away from him, she tipped her empty coffee cup into the garbage, yanked open the door, and entered the building. Her heart was racing.
As the glass door swung slowly shut behind her, she heard Holgersen call, “Hey, Palloreeeno, remember, no feeding the trolls. Social media one-oh-one—play nice.”
Her blood spiked as she found her way down the hall to the ground-level office with a sign on the door that read, COMMUNITY & PUBLIC AFFAIRS UNIT.