Terminal City by Linda Fairstein Page B

than I do. I just remember Corinne telling me she had ended the relationship because her friend—because Paco—was angry. That he was angry all the time.”
    Bill Thatcher looked more puzzled than Mercer and I. “She told you all this?”
    “Why was he angry?” I said. “Did Corinne tell you the reason?”
    She nodded her head up and down as more tears streaked her cheeks. “Paco’s brother had come back from Afghanistan. He lost both legs. His tank was blown up by an IED.”
    “That’s a good reason to be mad.”
    “He didn’t hurt her, Mr. Wallace.”
    “But she told you Paco was always angry.”
    “That was her world, Detective. Good people, but many of them damaged, many of them struggling, many of them deeply unhappy. This boy wasn’t taking out any hostility on my daughter,” Thelma Thatcher said. “He directed his anger elsewhere.”
    “Do you know—?”
    “Paco’s brother isn’t a citizen of this country. He joined the army to fight in this war and came home without his legs and half his face missing. Corinne told me she couldn’t get her friend to focus his—his venom, she called it—into something more constructive. Paco’s anger, according to Corinne, is directed at the president of the United States.”

ELEVEN
    “You can’t be that unhappy to see me,” Mike said.
    “Perfect end to a truly miserable day,” I said, closing the door to the conference room of the morgue shortly before 7:30 P.M . “You here to top it off?”
    Mike’s feet were up on the long table. He had obviously been examining autopsy and crime scene photographs. Mercer and I had just put the Thatchers in a patrol car for the ride home. I didn’t imagine there would be much conversation on that long, sad drive.
    “The commissioner thinks I’m presidential material. I mean, not presidential but—”
    “I wasn’t confused for a nanosecond. He’s asked you to be part of the task force when the feebies show up.”
    “Scully heard that the dead girl’s wacko ex—”
    “Nothing to suggest Paco is wacko, okay?”
    “What did you feed her that’s got her snapping at me, Mercer?”
    I raised my arms and held them out to both sides. “You guys talking about me? So very sorry. I’m just out of sorts ’cause I’m so distressed about Mrs. Chapman’s health.”
    “Relax, Coop. She’s doing much better.”
    I looked for the slightest sign of deception or discomfort in Mike’s demeanor but saw neither.
    Mercer didn’t skip a beat. “I called Corinne’s brother. He’s got—”
    “Do you mind giving us a few minutes, Mercer?” I asked.
    He looked at Mike before he answered me. “You can have whatever you want, Alex, but this doesn’t seem like the time—”
    Mike took his feet down and sat up straight. “I’ve got no secrets from Mercer, kid. You got a beef with me, shoot.”
    I stared straight at Mike. “If you don’t mind, Mercer. Five minutes.”
    He turned and saluted me before walking out of the room.
    “Don’t go acting all crazy on me, Coop.”
    “You know I adore your mother, Mike,” I said. “My father helped you get her the best doctors, the best care when she was first diagnosed. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
    “And she’s coming along fine. I just told you that.”
    “You also told me that she’s in ICU for a few more days of observation.”
    Mike’s expression didn’t change. “Like I said. So what’s got you so smoked up about my mother, Coop?”
    “Just the fact that I went to visit her in the hospital—”
    “Whoa. No visitors but family.”
    “Excuse me. She always says I’m just a shadow away from family. I went to say hello to her this morning—just a smile and to blow a kiss—perk her up a bit. Funniest thing is, she wasn’t there. Not this morning. Not this week.”
    “So—”
    “So your bullshit is wearing thin with me, Detective Chapman. I don’t care that you make a fool of me, but just give it to me face-to-face. Are we done?”
    Mike