*
O’Kelly was a happy camper. “The very men I’ve been waiting for,” he said, swiveling his chair to face us, when we knocked on his office door. He pointed at chairs—we had to clear away stacks of e-mail printouts and holiday applications before we could sit down; O’Kelly’s office always looks like the paperwork is on the verge of winning—and held up his copy of our report. “Go on. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
I gave him the rundown. “The little fucker,” O’Kelly said, when I was done, but without much heat. The Super’s worked Murder for a long time and seen a lot of things. “The confession checks out?”
I said, “What we’ve got checks out, yeah, but he started looking for his sleep break before we could get into details. We’ll take another shot at him later, or tomorrow.”
“But the little fucker’s our man. You’ve got enough that I can go to the media, tell them the people of Brianstown are safe in their beds again. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Richie was looking at me too. I said, “It’s safe out there.”
“That’s what I like to hear. I’ve been beating back the reporters with a stick; I swear half the little bastards are hoping the fucker’ll strike again, keep them in a job. This’ll put a stop to their gallop.” O’Kelly leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and aimed a stubby forefinger in Richie’s direction. “Curran, I’m going to hold my hand up and say I didn’t want you on this one. Did Kennedy tell you that?”
Richie shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Well, I didn’t. Thought you were too green to wipe your own arse without someone holding the jacks roll for you.” In the corner of my eye I caught the twitch of Richie’s mouth, but he nodded gravely. “I was wrong. Maybe I should use rookies more often, give those lazy lumps out there something to think about. Fair play to you.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“And as for this fella”—a thumb-jerk at me—“there’s men out there that would’ve told me not to let him within a mile of this one, either. Make him work his way back up, they said. Make him prove he’s still got what it takes.”
A day earlier I would have been starving to find the fuckers and stuff that down their throats. Now the six o’clock news would do it for me. O’Kelly was watching me, sharp-eyed. “And I hope I’ve done that, sir,” I said smoothly.
“I knew you would, or I wouldn’t have risked it. I told them where they could stick it, and I was right. Welcome back.”
“Good to be back, sir,” I said.
“I bet it is. I was right about you, Kennedy, and you were right about this young fella here. There’s plenty of lads on this squad that would still be holding their dicks in their hands and waiting for a confession to land in their laps. When are you charging your little fucker?”
I said, “I’d like the full three days. I want to be sure we don’t leave any cracks in this one.”
“That,” O’Kelly told Richie, “that’s our man Kennedy all over. Once he’s got his teeth into someone, God help the poor bastard. Watch and learn. Go on, go on”—a magnanimous wave of his hand—“take all the time you need. You’ve earned it. I’ll get you the extensions. Anything else you want, while you’re at it? More men? More overtime? Just say the word.”
“We’re all right for the moment, sir. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Do that,” O’Kelly said. He nodded at us, squared off the pages of our report and tossed it onto a stack: conversation over. “Now get out there and show the rest of that shower how it’s done.”
Out in the corridor, a safe distance from O’Kelly’s door, Richie caught my eye. He said, “So does this mean I’m allowed to wipe my own arse now, yeah?”
Plenty of people take the piss out of the Super, but he’s my boss and he’s always looked out for me, and I take both of those seriously. “It’s a metaphor,” I said.
“I got that. What’s the jacks roll meant to be?”
“Quigley?” I said, and we went back into the incident room laughing.