was a bitch. Now they think I'm a crazy
bitch."
"So just be up-front. Say you reread the file, rethought it, and
they can drop it. You're the boss, remember?"
"Maybe you're right. Stone would appreciate it. He's hot on an
important case."
The teakettle whistled.
"None for me," she said, as Jo poured. Riley reached for the vodka.
"Did you eat today?" Jo deliberately poured a second cup. "Want me
to fix you something?"
"No, I couldn't. I had a big lunch," Riley lied, and sipped her
drink.
"Jesus, Kathy, you never used to drink alone."
"I'm not alone. You're here."
"Take some vacation time. Go away for a while."
Riley snorted. "There wouldn't be a Cold Case Squad when I came
back. With all the budget cuts they're looking at, we're expendable. I
have to fight for our survival every day."
"Same thing in our office," Jo said. "Sometimes I wish I was still a
cop. Remember the fun we had in the academy?"
"What are you talking about, girlfriend? We were miserable, bruised,
banged up, and exhausted. Remember how you almost drowned during the
underwater swimming test?"
"Yeah, but it was exciting, and we made it." Jo's eyes sparkled. "We
kicked ass, kid. We showed 'em all."
"Who'da thought they'd turn out to be the good old days?"
"Well, I ain't having much fun now. We've got a hiring freeze, no
raises, no support from Alexander the not-so-great, and you wouldn't
believe my caseload."
"How is your boss, the state attorney, these days?"
"Still an ignoranus, both stupid and an asshole."
"He keeps fucking with my detectives. He hates cold cases."
"And he's not exactly crazy about you. The man takes rejection
poorly."
"He can't still hold it against me, not after all these years. He
just wants every case on a silver platter, tied up in red ribbon, with
a smoking gun and a signed confession. It's too risky for his record to
take on old cases with witnesses who have died or forgotten and
outmoded evidence-gathering methods the defense can target. The man's
got no
cojones
."
"What do you expect from a damn politician? He's hung up on his
conviction rate and the next election. He has his eye on higher office.
And the public doesn't give a rat's ass. We're not important anymore
because the crime rate has dipped," Jo said. "Sociologists do studies
trying to figure out why. Politicians brag and hog the credit, when
we're the ones who really helped make it happen."
"You arrest them. I prosecute them and they ship out to the Graybar
Motel. That's why the crime rate is down, because we've got more than a
million scumbags behind bars, the biggest prison population in U.S.
history. Ten percent of the people commit ninety percent of the crime;
lock up that ten percent or close to it and voila, the crime rate
declines. Duh. No mystery there." She reached into the refrigerator,
sniffed a bottle, then wheeled, her expression accusatory.
"Yuck! Kathy, the milk is sour. Damn. Can't I come over here and
drink tea with milk and sugar like a civilized person?"
Riley put down her drink, leaned forward, and covered her eyes.
"Okay, okay, Kath. I'll rough it, go commando, do without. You don't
have to cry about it."
She knelt next to her friend and put her arm around her shoulder.
Riley leaned on her and wept.
"It's my fault." Her voice trembled. "He's dead, and it's my fault."
"You
are
a crazy bitch. You had nothing to do with it,
sweetheart."
"That's the point, I did nothing. I didn't fight for him. When he
told me he was in love with that reporter, I was so sure it wouldn't
work that I told him to go for it if he felt that way. And he did. I
was so stupid," she said miserably. "I took the high road, thought it
was best, that we'd be closer when he came back. See, I was in it for
the long haul. Worst-case scenario, I'd still be his friend, which was
better than nothing."
"But I was so sure he'd come to his senses, that he'd be back, I let
him go. I was so stupid."
"But, honey, you had no choice. You can't make somebody love you.
All
bitch."
"So just be up-front. Say you reread the file, rethought it, and
they can drop it. You're the boss, remember?"
"Maybe you're right. Stone would appreciate it. He's hot on an
important case."
The teakettle whistled.
"None for me," she said, as Jo poured. Riley reached for the vodka.
"Did you eat today?" Jo deliberately poured a second cup. "Want me
to fix you something?"
"No, I couldn't. I had a big lunch," Riley lied, and sipped her
drink.
"Jesus, Kathy, you never used to drink alone."
"I'm not alone. You're here."
"Take some vacation time. Go away for a while."
Riley snorted. "There wouldn't be a Cold Case Squad when I came
back. With all the budget cuts they're looking at, we're expendable. I
have to fight for our survival every day."
"Same thing in our office," Jo said. "Sometimes I wish I was still a
cop. Remember the fun we had in the academy?"
"What are you talking about, girlfriend? We were miserable, bruised,
banged up, and exhausted. Remember how you almost drowned during the
underwater swimming test?"
"Yeah, but it was exciting, and we made it." Jo's eyes sparkled. "We
kicked ass, kid. We showed 'em all."
"Who'da thought they'd turn out to be the good old days?"
"Well, I ain't having much fun now. We've got a hiring freeze, no
raises, no support from Alexander the not-so-great, and you wouldn't
believe my caseload."
"How is your boss, the state attorney, these days?"
"Still an ignoranus, both stupid and an asshole."
"He keeps fucking with my detectives. He hates cold cases."
"And he's not exactly crazy about you. The man takes rejection
poorly."
"He can't still hold it against me, not after all these years. He
just wants every case on a silver platter, tied up in red ribbon, with
a smoking gun and a signed confession. It's too risky for his record to
take on old cases with witnesses who have died or forgotten and
outmoded evidence-gathering methods the defense can target. The man's
got no
cojones
."
"What do you expect from a damn politician? He's hung up on his
conviction rate and the next election. He has his eye on higher office.
And the public doesn't give a rat's ass. We're not important anymore
because the crime rate has dipped," Jo said. "Sociologists do studies
trying to figure out why. Politicians brag and hog the credit, when
we're the ones who really helped make it happen."
"You arrest them. I prosecute them and they ship out to the Graybar
Motel. That's why the crime rate is down, because we've got more than a
million scumbags behind bars, the biggest prison population in U.S.
history. Ten percent of the people commit ninety percent of the crime;
lock up that ten percent or close to it and voila, the crime rate
declines. Duh. No mystery there." She reached into the refrigerator,
sniffed a bottle, then wheeled, her expression accusatory.
"Yuck! Kathy, the milk is sour. Damn. Can't I come over here and
drink tea with milk and sugar like a civilized person?"
Riley put down her drink, leaned forward, and covered her eyes.
"Okay, okay, Kath. I'll rough it, go commando, do without. You don't
have to cry about it."
She knelt next to her friend and put her arm around her shoulder.
Riley leaned on her and wept.
"It's my fault." Her voice trembled. "He's dead, and it's my fault."
"You
are
a crazy bitch. You had nothing to do with it,
sweetheart."
"That's the point, I did nothing. I didn't fight for him. When he
told me he was in love with that reporter, I was so sure it wouldn't
work that I told him to go for it if he felt that way. And he did. I
was so stupid," she said miserably. "I took the high road, thought it
was best, that we'd be closer when he came back. See, I was in it for
the long haul. Worst-case scenario, I'd still be his friend, which was
better than nothing."
"But I was so sure he'd come to his senses, that he'd be back, I let
him go. I was so stupid."
"But, honey, you had no choice. You can't make somebody love you.
All
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