Breach of Duty (9780061739637) by Judith A. Jance

case. My mind remained focused on Mildred George, but somewhere between Northgate and the Montlake Bridge, Sue Danielson started making the gradual transition from detective mode back into motherhood.
    â€œIf I ever decide to move to the suburbs ‘for my kids’ sake,’” she said, “just haul off and shoot me. Where we live now may be a dump, but I can make it home from downtown in just a little over fifteen minutes.”
    â€œYour place isn’t a dump,” I reminded her. “You and the boys have done a great job of fixing it up. But I’ll remember you said that. The first time I catch you out looking for places in the burbs, I’ll land all over you.”
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    Sue was quiet then, from there all the way to the downtown exits. We were exiting the freeway when she spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œAbout the kids.”
    â€œWhat about them?”
    â€œYou’re right. I’m going to put my foot down, Beau. For a change, I’m going to make Richie Danielson play by the rules that govern everyone else. If he wants to take the kids to Disneyland, he’ll have to do it next week, during spring break. I’m not letting him pull them out of school this week just because he feels like it. After all, I’m trying to teach the boys to behave responsibly. Shouldn’t their father have to do the same?”
    â€œSounds reasonable to me,” I said.
    Which only goes to show how little I know.

Six
    B y the time we finally made it back to the office and had finished our reports, it was time to head home. I’ve never been your basic nine-to-five cop, but that day I made an exception. The whole fifth floor could just as well have been draped in black crepe. People were still reeling from Captain Powell’s unexpected announcement, but there was little doubt the captain was gone. His fishbowl office was empty. Every personal effect had been removed leaving behind only an empty shell awaiting a new occupant.
    When I stopped by Watty Watkins’ desk to clock out, he was still there. I caught him staring bleakly at the empty desk a few steps away. The two of them, sergeant and captain, had been constant companions for the better part of a dozen years.
    Watty looked up guiltily when I stepped into his line of vision. “Productive day?” he asked.
    â€œNot very,” I said. “We’re starting to get a handle on it, but I’m afraid my heart’s not in it.”
    â€œMine either,” Watty returned glumly. “Captain Powell wasn’t all that easy to work with at times, but you always knew where you stood with him. No head games. Know what I mean?”
    I nodded. “You’re right there,” I agreed. “Powell wasn’t one to yank people around just for the hell of it.”
    Watty turned to watch as I punched the clock. “What are you and Sue working on again?”
    â€œThe Ferman murder,” I told him. “The North-End arson. Not your basic high-profile case, just a little old lady with some relatives who maybe liked the idea of having her money a whole lot more than they liked her.”
    â€œAnd who are convinced they’ll get away with it,” Watty added.
    â€œNot a chance,” I told him, and we both smiled.
    Leaving the Public Safety Building, I caught a bus up 4th as far as Olive, then I got off and walked the rest of the way home to Belltown Terrace at 2nd and Broad. It was spring. The weather was balmy. After months of dark and wet, the afternoons were growing longer and lighter. The sky overhead was a fragile blue and the street ahead of me was alive with newly leafed trees.
    Fifteen or so years ago, hoping to achieve the look of a Parisian boulevard, the city planted trees along the sidewalks throughout the Denny Regrade. For a long time the puny little seedlings seemed like