“You want to tell the brass that?”
“Why don’t you tell the brass that?” she said, no longer trying to hide her anger. “That’s your job.”
Nolasco’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “I’d suggest you stop making every case about every young woman personal. It clouds your judgment.”
“My judgment is fine. What I want is jurisdiction.”
“Whoa,” Kins said. “Let’s all take a second here. I think what Tracy is trying to say, Captain, is that we’ve made progress, and we hate to give that up.”
“Write it up and send it down to Pierce County, Sparrow. This is not our headache anymore. Wrap up what you have going on and send everything down.” Nolasco paused and looked around the cubicle. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yeah,” Kins said.
Nolasco looked to Del and Faz, who reluctantly nodded. Then he looked to Tracy. “Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand, but I heard what you said.”
“Then finish up what you’re working on and leave this case alone.”
Tracy spent the rest of the afternoon fuming. She left the office as soon as her shift ended, her anger building as she drove across the West Seattle Bridge. Dan was out in front of her house, dressed in running shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes. He held two leashes, Rex and Sherlock prancing and playing. Tracy was glad to see him. Dan had a way of making her forget work when she came home.
Tracy lowered her window as she turned into the driveway. “You coming or going?”
“Are you kidding? I’d never look this fresh if I were coming.” Dan approached the driver’s side and they kissed. “I didn’t expect you home this early.”
“Yeah, neither did I.”
He stepped back. “Uh-oh, what happened?”
“Give me five minutes to change and I’ll tell you on the run. I need to burn off some anger.”
Tracy quickly went inside and left all her clothes on the bed. She changed into her running gear and bolted out the door. Dan, stretching, had the leashes tied to the wrought-iron fence.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“You want time to stretch?” he asked.
She took Sherlock’s leash and walked down the block.
“I guess not,” Dan said, chasing after her.
They walked down the hill to Harbor Way; running downhill was hard on the dogs and on their knees. Then they ran north, along the beach, past the restaurants and storefronts in the direction of Alki Point. It was a glorious afternoon, the temperature having cooled to the mid-eighties, and many people had come out to enjoy the weather. The beaches and restaurants were crowded and white sails filled Elliott Bay.
“You weren’t kidding about the pace,” Dan said, huffing and puffing. “We might kill Rex and Sherlock.”
Tracy checked her watch. She’d been running at a six-minute, fifteen-second-per-mile clip. She rarely ran seven-minute miles since turning forty. “Sorry,” she said, easing off. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, I’m good now,” Dan said, after they slowed the pace. “Let’s catch our breath at the lighthouse.”
Just before the Alki Point Lighthouse, they stopped and took in a view Tracy still found as spectacular as any she’d ever seen—Elliott Bay a rich blue, the Seattle skyline sparkling in the glint of the sun, ferries crossing. The view, and the run, had helped ease her displeasure with Nolasco. At least she no longer wanted to rip his face off.
Dan wiped perspiration from his face with his shirt and continued to catch his breath. “You didn’t say why you’re home early, but I’m guessing you’re not happy about it.”
“We lost the woman-in-the-crab-pot case.”
“Lost it?”
“Pierce County reasserted jurisdiction and we gave it back to them.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What really irritates me is I’m sure Nolasco didn’t go to bat for us, didn’t even fight to keep it.”
Dan gave her time to vent. Then he said, “Well, look, it’s not often we get to enjoy an early evening like this. Why don’t we focus on that?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
Dan eyed her. “You’re not going to be okay with this, are you?”
“Not for a while.”
“Tracy, I know what happened to Sarah makes these cases difficult—”
“Dan, please. That’s not it, okay?”
“It’s not?”
“No.” She paced, frustrated and angry. “Okay, maybe it’s a part of it, but . . . the victim was thirteen when her parents died. Then she marries a guy who treats her like a doormat, maybe even shoots her in the head and dumps her into the Sound like bait. We make progress, and when we do, Pierce County, which from what I can tell did nothing when they had the case, jumps in and takes it back—and we let them. It’s just not right.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, “but sometimes you’ve got to let things go, Tracy. It’s like my dad used to say. If you take this shit to heart, you die with a heart full of shit.”
“That’s a beautiful thought, Dan. Very poetic.” She stopped pacing and stared across the water to the skyscrapers.