she wanted a place where she could discuss the street side of things with Watts privately, but she didn’t imagine she needed to. Sloan was too sharp not to know that no one shares everything, ever.
“I’ll show you,” Jason offered. “There’s another meeting room like this at the other end of this floor you can have. It’s smaller, but the coffee machine works.”
“It’ll be fine,” Rebecca acknowledged. “Thanks.” She glanced at Sloan. “The first time you get a hint of anything that even vaguely connects to here, let me know.”
“No problem.”
*
When Jason left the three cops in a conference room that made anything at the one-eight look like a slum, Rebecca said, “Mitchell, take ten. We’ll discuss your assignment when you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in ten. Bring you anything?”
“No, thanks. How many open cases do you have?” Rebecca asked Watts when the uniform left. “Because officially, you aren’t even on this case.”
“Nothing pressing. A few follow-up interviews, two coming to trial, and those cold files I’ve been slugging through.” He hiked a hip up onto the corner of another sleek tabletop, the fabric of his shiny brown suit stretching over his ample middle. “I thought we…uh…you were just supposed to be the contact person when these eggheads find something. If they find something.”
“That’s what Henry said,” Rebecca agreed. “For my dime, I think we’re all going fishing for Avery Clark, and I don’t like that too much. Let’s poke around and see if we can find out what he really wants us to catch.”
“You think it could be Zamora?” Watts asked flatly, watching her carefully. Gregor Zamora was the head of the local organized crime syndicate, and he had been amazingly successful at avoiding prosecution. So successful that most cops believed he had friends in high places.
“I don’t think anything,” Rebecca replied steadily.
“Wouldn’t it be a bite in the ass if Zamora goes down for selling dirty pictures after all the times we’ve tried to nail him for drugs and racketeering? Justice is a funny thing sometimes.” His expression was one of happy expectation.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, and don’t talk this up at the squad,” she warned sharply. I don’t want another…partner…winding up dead.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he replied. “Especially if chasing around for you keeps me from hunting down weenie waggers in the park. Can you get me some slack with the cap?”
She considered her options, and they were slim. Officially, this was a desk job for her. Talking to the feds, coordinating with the computer cops, and sitting on her ass until something happened. Which might be never. “I could probably justify some time for you on this by telling him I need you to run down the guys Jeff and I put away in that kiddie prostitution bust last spring. Find out if any of them are out of jail yet. Shake them down for some names. Go through the paperwork—you might even dig something up that would give us a lead.”
“Good enough for me,” Watts said. “I don’t suppose whatever we’re about to be doing is going into the rookie’s log book.”
She just looked at him.
“Right. I’m ready,” he said more seriously. “Just give me the word.”
“Go ahead and start on it,” she said as a discreet cough from the doorway to the conference room announced the uniform’s return. “I’ll call you later.”
“What’re you gonna be doing?” he asked as he ambled toward the door.
She didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected her to. It would be a long time—maybe never—before she confided in him. Some cops never accepted another partner after one was killed. Didn’t want to take the risk of losing another, or as was most likely in her case, they could only form that kind of attachment once in a lifetime. He put his hands in his pockets, walked to the elevator, and tried not to be bothered by her
“I’ll show you,” Jason offered. “There’s another meeting room like this at the other end of this floor you can have. It’s smaller, but the coffee machine works.”
“It’ll be fine,” Rebecca acknowledged. “Thanks.” She glanced at Sloan. “The first time you get a hint of anything that even vaguely connects to here, let me know.”
“No problem.”
*
When Jason left the three cops in a conference room that made anything at the one-eight look like a slum, Rebecca said, “Mitchell, take ten. We’ll discuss your assignment when you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in ten. Bring you anything?”
“No, thanks. How many open cases do you have?” Rebecca asked Watts when the uniform left. “Because officially, you aren’t even on this case.”
“Nothing pressing. A few follow-up interviews, two coming to trial, and those cold files I’ve been slugging through.” He hiked a hip up onto the corner of another sleek tabletop, the fabric of his shiny brown suit stretching over his ample middle. “I thought we…uh…you were just supposed to be the contact person when these eggheads find something. If they find something.”
“That’s what Henry said,” Rebecca agreed. “For my dime, I think we’re all going fishing for Avery Clark, and I don’t like that too much. Let’s poke around and see if we can find out what he really wants us to catch.”
“You think it could be Zamora?” Watts asked flatly, watching her carefully. Gregor Zamora was the head of the local organized crime syndicate, and he had been amazingly successful at avoiding prosecution. So successful that most cops believed he had friends in high places.
“I don’t think anything,” Rebecca replied steadily.
“Wouldn’t it be a bite in the ass if Zamora goes down for selling dirty pictures after all the times we’ve tried to nail him for drugs and racketeering? Justice is a funny thing sometimes.” His expression was one of happy expectation.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, and don’t talk this up at the squad,” she warned sharply. I don’t want another…partner…winding up dead.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he replied. “Especially if chasing around for you keeps me from hunting down weenie waggers in the park. Can you get me some slack with the cap?”
She considered her options, and they were slim. Officially, this was a desk job for her. Talking to the feds, coordinating with the computer cops, and sitting on her ass until something happened. Which might be never. “I could probably justify some time for you on this by telling him I need you to run down the guys Jeff and I put away in that kiddie prostitution bust last spring. Find out if any of them are out of jail yet. Shake them down for some names. Go through the paperwork—you might even dig something up that would give us a lead.”
“Good enough for me,” Watts said. “I don’t suppose whatever we’re about to be doing is going into the rookie’s log book.”
She just looked at him.
“Right. I’m ready,” he said more seriously. “Just give me the word.”
“Go ahead and start on it,” she said as a discreet cough from the doorway to the conference room announced the uniform’s return. “I’ll call you later.”
“What’re you gonna be doing?” he asked as he ambled toward the door.
She didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected her to. It would be a long time—maybe never—before she confided in him. Some cops never accepted another partner after one was killed. Didn’t want to take the risk of losing another, or as was most likely in her case, they could only form that kind of attachment once in a lifetime. He put his hands in his pockets, walked to the elevator, and tried not to be bothered by her
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