Glass Houses by Terri Nolan

dirty narco cops. As a homicide detective I rarely come into contact with either.”
    â€œThat makes an IA a little difficult. You’re not checking money or drugs into evidence so we can’t determine if your hand’s in the till. No, you’ve been under surveillance.”
    â€œTo determine if I had a role in Gerard’s business?”
    â€œSOP and you know it.”
    â€œWhy not ask, LT? No one has interviewed me since I testified for the Grand Jury.”
    â€œWould you admit guilty knowledge? Don’t answer that. Look, there’ve been rumors about the Teflon coating of your family for a long time—and the close relationship with the Whelans. You’re a bunch of slickers.”
    â€œI know. They call us the Irish Mob. So what? We’re made to suffer for the sins of one?”
    â€œPrecisely,” said Craig. “The department as well as the feds are pissed that Gerard went undetected for the Paige Street incident for so long. They don’t forget shit like that.”
    â€œWho’s surveilling me?” Thom hoped it’d be the FBI. They don’t work in the same building. If it were the feds, his phones would be wired, a tracker on his car, and a crew of two following. That would equal six, twenty-four-hour monitors. A lot of man hours. What really burned Thom was that they probably had photographs of him and Jelena in the backseat of her Honda.
    â€œIt’s so expensive I doubt the bill is being paid by L.A.,” said Craig. “You were seen with the girl. Her plate was run, her identity established. Later, when she turned up again and discovered a crime scene it became my job to make the case yours to test your integrity.”
    â€œDamn you!”
    â€œOkay, I’m damned. But that doesn’t change the fact that you came clean about your intimate relations. You passed.”
    â€œYou should’ve known better, LT. I’m the guy who thinks about the endgame.”
    â€œTrue. You’re one of my best in that regard. I like you, Thom, this is the only reason we’re having this confidential conversation.”
    â€œSo now what?”
    â€œYou and George work the case.”
    â€œSeriously? After all this?”
    â€œIt’s not my call.” Craig pointed upward. The command staff offices were upstairs on the tenth floor. “Work it tight and right.”
    And keep looking over my shoulder, thought Thom.
    When Thom stepped back into the squad bay, he detected a perceptual hush. Seymour and Morgan were standing together two rows over, their eyes on Thom. No one other than George and they knew about Jelena so something else must have happened.
    George said, “We have another—” he quoted his fingers— “ ‘message murder.’”
    â€œA serial,” said Thom.
    â€œThe victim is Jerry Deats of Santa Monica. The SMPD sent a law enforcement bulletin looking for similarities to their murder. I called the DIC. She sent me this.” He gestured at the photo on his computer screen. Dead fish was scrawled on a bathroom mirror.
    â€œDamnit!” said Thom.
    â€œI told her we’d come by today to take a look.”
    Thom sped from the squad. Found Craig pacing the corridor, cell to his ear. Thom hung back while Craig finished.
    â€œI just heard,” Craig said a few minutes later. “We have a potential serial. The SMPD is willing to let us take the lead.”
    â€œThis is a perfect opportunity to get out from under the train wreck. We should let them take it.”
    â€œWe have the resources and manpower.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œWe’re lead. That means you . Get to it.”
    When Thom returned to his desk, S&M were leaning on George’s cubicle looking down at him.
    Thom noted the impeccable press job of Seymour’s white shirt. Morgan’s muscular, squat frame was covered in black on black, with a bolo, and cowboy boots, as per usual. He