remembered her face. Eighteen months ago, he hadn’t gotten close enough to see her eyes. Today he had, and he’d found them to be an odd shade of light green, a nice contrast with her hair.
He wondered why she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been to the funeral home.
And of course he’d heard the rumors: that she’d ratted out her partner for some very minor infraction and he’d been busted back to patrol, his life ruined. What that minor infraction was, he didn’t know. He’d asked, but it had been glossed over in the telling, which made Charlie pretty sure the infraction probably hadn’t been so minor. He’d listened to the telling because there had been no way to avoid it. He’d been in the conference room three days ago reading through the playground murder files when the door opened and a tall man with a marine-style buzz cut stepped in and introduced himself.
“Hey. You’re the new guy,” he’d said, offering his hand. “Frank Toricelli. I’m one of your fellow detectives. Hear you’re coming on board soon. Just wanted to stop in and say hi.”
Charlie stood and leaned across two chairs to shake the proffered hand.
“Thanks. Yes, I start next week.”
“I see the boss is getting you tuned up.” Toricelli had nodded his head in the file’s direction.
“Yeah, he thought it would be a good idea if I got up to speed quickly on this case, since you’re apparently shorthanded right now.”
“Got ourselves a sniper.” Toricelli smiled as if that was a good thing. “Bastard’s keeping us busy, lots of OT, you know? We’re at least one man down, since we got one out on maternity leave and we were already a man down before that. So we’re short at least one man on this sniper case—this bastard is all over the place, man, he’s been a bitch to try to catch—but there’s still that playground mess. So yeah, we’re in need of some help here. Old Joe sure as hell took his sweet time finding someone.” The detective had leaned closer to Charlie, lowered his voice, and added, “We think he was kind of hoping the other one would come back, but she’s too smart for that. She knows her days would be numbered, no one watching her back, know what I mean?”
“Ah, no, not really.” Charlie had shrugged. He’d never been one for gossip; had seen firsthand what careless words could do to someone’s feelings or reputation.
“A call for backup that goes unanswered, maybe a stray bullet here or there, come on, you know the drill, man.” Toricelli had smirked. “She was smart to get out on her own when she did.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Russo, man. Mallory Russo.” He stared at Charlie as if the name was supposed to mean something. “Ex-detective? You mean you haven’t heard about her yet?”
“I haven’t really talked to anyone,” Charlie told him. “This is only the third time I’ve been in the building for anything more than an interview or preemployment talks, so I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t mention her.” His head jerked in the direction of Joe Drabyak’s office. “Shit, everyone knows he has the hots for her, and she sure as hell took advantage of that, you know? Hot chick, ambitious detective, older guy who just happens to be the lead detective. He brings her in, he pushes her up through the ranks. Then the old chief retires, he gets the nod to fill that job, moves his girl up to lead. You know how it goes. Happens every day.”
Charlie debated whether or not to tell Toricelli to save his breath, he wasn’t interested in hearing the scuttlebutt on his soon-to-be boss and some woman he had a fling with, but it would have been like trying to stop a moving train. Toricelli barely took a breath.
“Yeah, this chick, Russo, is real ambitious, you know the type. There’s one guy—one detective—between her and the promotion to lead. So what does she do? She rats him out for some stupid little thing, gets
He wondered why she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been to the funeral home.
And of course he’d heard the rumors: that she’d ratted out her partner for some very minor infraction and he’d been busted back to patrol, his life ruined. What that minor infraction was, he didn’t know. He’d asked, but it had been glossed over in the telling, which made Charlie pretty sure the infraction probably hadn’t been so minor. He’d listened to the telling because there had been no way to avoid it. He’d been in the conference room three days ago reading through the playground murder files when the door opened and a tall man with a marine-style buzz cut stepped in and introduced himself.
“Hey. You’re the new guy,” he’d said, offering his hand. “Frank Toricelli. I’m one of your fellow detectives. Hear you’re coming on board soon. Just wanted to stop in and say hi.”
Charlie stood and leaned across two chairs to shake the proffered hand.
“Thanks. Yes, I start next week.”
“I see the boss is getting you tuned up.” Toricelli had nodded his head in the file’s direction.
“Yeah, he thought it would be a good idea if I got up to speed quickly on this case, since you’re apparently shorthanded right now.”
“Got ourselves a sniper.” Toricelli smiled as if that was a good thing. “Bastard’s keeping us busy, lots of OT, you know? We’re at least one man down, since we got one out on maternity leave and we were already a man down before that. So we’re short at least one man on this sniper case—this bastard is all over the place, man, he’s been a bitch to try to catch—but there’s still that playground mess. So yeah, we’re in need of some help here. Old Joe sure as hell took his sweet time finding someone.” The detective had leaned closer to Charlie, lowered his voice, and added, “We think he was kind of hoping the other one would come back, but she’s too smart for that. She knows her days would be numbered, no one watching her back, know what I mean?”
“Ah, no, not really.” Charlie had shrugged. He’d never been one for gossip; had seen firsthand what careless words could do to someone’s feelings or reputation.
“A call for backup that goes unanswered, maybe a stray bullet here or there, come on, you know the drill, man.” Toricelli had smirked. “She was smart to get out on her own when she did.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Russo, man. Mallory Russo.” He stared at Charlie as if the name was supposed to mean something. “Ex-detective? You mean you haven’t heard about her yet?”
“I haven’t really talked to anyone,” Charlie told him. “This is only the third time I’ve been in the building for anything more than an interview or preemployment talks, so I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t mention her.” His head jerked in the direction of Joe Drabyak’s office. “Shit, everyone knows he has the hots for her, and she sure as hell took advantage of that, you know? Hot chick, ambitious detective, older guy who just happens to be the lead detective. He brings her in, he pushes her up through the ranks. Then the old chief retires, he gets the nod to fill that job, moves his girl up to lead. You know how it goes. Happens every day.”
Charlie debated whether or not to tell Toricelli to save his breath, he wasn’t interested in hearing the scuttlebutt on his soon-to-be boss and some woman he had a fling with, but it would have been like trying to stop a moving train. Toricelli barely took a breath.
“Yeah, this chick, Russo, is real ambitious, you know the type. There’s one guy—one detective—between her and the promotion to lead. So what does she do? She rats him out for some stupid little thing, gets
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