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“But you’re not convinced?”
“It’s a stretch. Looking at another badge is really fucking shitty. It’s the sort of behavior that’ll land a detective on everyone else’s hit list. But, even knowing the heat Fletch and I will catch, we’re not tossing it away until we’ve done the job. Having said that,” I add quickly, “we’ve started our dig, and I have every report Mercer ever made. There are only five.”
“Which isn’t a lot,” she accepts with a soft sigh. “I guess.”
“I mean, it’s a lot, in the sense I’ve never made a report like that. And neither has Fletch. There’s a code of conduct amongst cops that basically says, instead of snitching to the higher ups, we deal with shit ourselves. Like how Fletch and I had beef. Instead of running to the brass, we call the bad players out and apply enough pressure to either have them fix their behavior, or they request reassignment on their own. So in that sense, five is a lot.”
“But?”
“But, of those five, we’ve checked for alibis for them all. Three of the five were transferred out: they were ‘accept this transfer quietly, or we’ll move you with force’ kinds of situations. They each moved voluntarily, and their new COs speak highly of them. All three live hours from here, different directions, and all reported to work this week as normal. It would have been impossible for them to hit Detectives Wright and Mercer and still make their shifts on time.”
“Okay… and the remaining two?”
“One still works out of Midtown, but he’s in a new division now. His C.O. vouches for him. No reports have been made since his transfer, and his shift schedule makes it difficult for him to be killing cops at four in the morning and arriving at work by nine. He’s married with kids, and the wife signed an affidavit swearing he was at home.”
“So you’ve already questioned them?” Surprised, I know her eyes pop wide. “That’s going to piss them off, too.”
“Gotta do the job.” Footsteps echo in the hall, then a plastic bag crinkles. I don’t smell my burrito yet, but fuck, my stomach rumbles as the delivery guy knocks on the door. Grunting, I push off the couch and grab the phone to bring it with me. “Our fifth cop retired and is now collecting a pension.”
Checking the peephole and making certain my visitor isn’t, say, a cop killer, I unlock the door and smile as food is exchanged from one hand to the next. “Thanks.” I reach into my pocket and snag a few dollars for a tip, then I back up and close the door once more. “Food’s here, Mayet. I’m starving.”
“I’m surprised you’re not eating at the bar.” Lying down again, she finds comfort in the bed I wish I was cuddling in, too. For her, I’d go to sleep hungry. “You didn’t wanna eat with Tim?”
“Nope.” I come around the couch and drop the bag onto the cushion, then sitting, I set the phone down and use both hands to unwrap my dinner. “So the fifth and final snitch is retired and living pretty in Florida. He hasn’t traveled out of the state this week, his financials look clean, and his wife and kids swear he’s been there with them. Soifour killer is a cop, he’s not one of the cops Mercer reported over the years. And if he’s not one of them, then why is our cop killer a cop?”
“Fair point. So that brings you back to your killer potentially being a perp they’ve busted, instead. You’ve found all of them?”
I unwrap the top of my burrito and expose the end until a waft of steam billows free. “Working on it, Detective Mayet. Fifteen-ish years on the force, seven in narcotics. That’s a lot of files to work through. Strangely, several cases the duo has run in the past twelve months include, name, and or point toward Nathan Booth. That dude is like a fuckin’ cockroach. People know he exists, but he skitters and hides as soon as the light almost touches him.”
“It feels entirely too coincidental that the same guy who tuned Jada up last month is the subject of your cop-killer investigation this month. If thatcoincidence exists, shouldn’t it be you and Fletch who were called out and shot?”
“Dunno.” I bring my dinner up and take a hefty bite of steaming rice and beans, so I’m forced to hss-hss-hss around the meal. “I don’t like to admit it, but sometimes a coincidence is just that: a coincidence. So that’s my update. Nathan Booth is tickling my balls, Fletch is holding on to his temper every time we see Booth’s name in our files, we’ve collectively annoyed a handful of cops tonight, and our task force is doing… okay.”
“Okay?”
“Most other folks work slower than Fletch and I are accustomed, so while we run, most of the rest of them walk. Detectives Haightman and Taylor are keen to assist; they worked with our vics in narcotics and are proving helpful as we sift through the files. And I’m probably gonna formally adopt Officer Clay sometime soon. Can the mayor have those adoption papers drawn up?”
“Uh…”
“I mean, I know he’s a legal adult and all that, and since we’re married, you’d become his mommy on paper, but the kid has common sense and enough bravery to make me want him around more often. He’s the youngest on our squad, but he’s got more brains than most of the rest, put together.”
She smiles, snuggling into her blankets and happily sighing. “Ever since that case at City Park, I’ve always considered him a competent, smart officer.”
“This is why we work, Doctor Mayet. Our instincts align.” I glance up at the wall—eight o’clock—and frown. “But it’s eleven there, and you have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m still on Copeland time. Which will suck tomorrow, when I have to wake at six, New York time.”
“Way too fucking early. You want me to be your wake-up call?”
“No. Because there’s no reason for usbothto be conscious at three. I need you rested and alert, in case some asshole jumps out and tries to shoot you.”
I choke out a quiet laugh and trade my burrito for the bottle of water. “Noted. Are you falling asleep anytime soon, or is Copeland Time screwing with you?”
“I took melatonin just before I called you.” And because she says the word, a long yawn works through her system. “I’ll be out soon. Are you staying up late to work, or are you done for today?”
I sip my water and enjoy the cold slide of liquid rolling into my belly. Then I set the bottle down and pick my dinner up. “I won’t be able to sleep for a little while longer, so I’ll finish my meal and turn the TV on. The Condors are playing tonight, so I’ll keep that on in the background while I numb my brain with someone else’s case notes.”
“So work, then,” she drones. “You’re living the bachelor life again, Archer. On shift until you pass out and eating burritos on the couch.”
