time."
"People think you're nuts for staying in this job. Most of 'em think
there's something screwy in your head, that you like it so much."
"I learned a long time ago not to worry about what other people
think. Unless they're people I care about. You love what you do. You
don't understand why I like my end of it?"
"Different thing."
"What are you talking about? You're sniffing around dead bodies day
and night. I get to help people. Live ones. People who've survived the
trauma, who recover from it, who get to see a bit of justice restored
because we
make
the system work for them."
I realized I had raised my voice in answering Mike, so I said more
calmly, "Twenty years ago, prosecutors couldn't get convictions in
these cases in a court of law. Now, the guys in my unit do it every
day. Different thing? According to who? To
you?
'Cause your
narrow-minded, parochial upbringing wants you to think that women
shouldn't do this kind of work, right?"
My pitch had gone up again. There was no point trying to explain
what he already knew.
We were stopped in the middle of the driveway at my building, the
doorman standing at the passenger side to let me out, but waiting till
our argument stopped before daring to approach the car. I was sure he
could hear my agitated voice through the window.
Mike lowered his tone a notch and spoke to me softly. "'Cause I
think you've got to start thinking about the rest of your life, Coop."
"I think about it every day. Know what my thoughts are? That if a
fraction of the people I knew did something that was as emotionally
rewarding as what I do, they'd be a pretty satisfied bunch. I've got
loyal friends who happen to have a great time working together, with
one another and with the good cops like you and Mercer."
"And you're going home, by yourself, to an empty apartment. With
nothing to eat in the refrigerator, nobody to keep you warm when the
heat goes off, and no way for anyone to know if you're dead or alive
until it's time to show up for work on Monday. It's pathetic. You
should have been on the last shuttle to Washington, slippin' into
Jake's hotel room—"
I stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind me. "When you
straighten out your own love life, instead of going home and playing
with yourself every night, then you can start giving advice to the
lovelorn."
He accelerated over the speed bumps and raced out of the driveway.
"Sorry." I nodded to the doorman. "Thanks for waiting."
"Miss Cooper? There was someone here an hour or two ago asking
questions about you."
I shivered. "Do you know who he was?"
"No, it wasn't a man. It was a young woman, actually. Wanted to know
if you lived here."
"What did you say?"
"Well, it was the new guy she spoke to, the one covering for the
holiday break. He thought she looked harmless enough. He told her that
you did live in the building before he even thought about why she might
be asking."
Great security. Must be why my rent is so high.
"What else
did she say?"
"She wanted to know if anybody else lived with you. She wanted to
know if you usually came home alone at night."
9
The light was flashing on my answering machine when I walked into my
bedroom at midnight. Jake said he and the film crew had gone out for
dinner, but he was back in his hotel room and would wait up awhile for
my call. The second caller was an unfamiliar voice.
"Miss Cooper? Hello? This is, um, Joan Ryan. I'm one of the
counselors in the Witness Aid Unit at the DA's office. We haven't met
yet, and this isn't exactly the way I, uh, wanted to introduce myself.
But I need to tell you about a problem on one of your cases.
"I've been counseling one of your victims, Shirley Denzig, you know
the one who claims the delivery guy attacked her? She was flirting with
him in the deli when she bought her dinner, and then she paid him to
bring up the dessert half an hour later?" Ryan was rambling now, in
that way people do on answering machines so it seems to the listener
that
"People think you're nuts for staying in this job. Most of 'em think
there's something screwy in your head, that you like it so much."
"I learned a long time ago not to worry about what other people
think. Unless they're people I care about. You love what you do. You
don't understand why I like my end of it?"
"Different thing."
"What are you talking about? You're sniffing around dead bodies day
and night. I get to help people. Live ones. People who've survived the
trauma, who recover from it, who get to see a bit of justice restored
because we
make
the system work for them."
I realized I had raised my voice in answering Mike, so I said more
calmly, "Twenty years ago, prosecutors couldn't get convictions in
these cases in a court of law. Now, the guys in my unit do it every
day. Different thing? According to who? To
you?
'Cause your
narrow-minded, parochial upbringing wants you to think that women
shouldn't do this kind of work, right?"
My pitch had gone up again. There was no point trying to explain
what he already knew.
We were stopped in the middle of the driveway at my building, the
doorman standing at the passenger side to let me out, but waiting till
our argument stopped before daring to approach the car. I was sure he
could hear my agitated voice through the window.
Mike lowered his tone a notch and spoke to me softly. "'Cause I
think you've got to start thinking about the rest of your life, Coop."
"I think about it every day. Know what my thoughts are? That if a
fraction of the people I knew did something that was as emotionally
rewarding as what I do, they'd be a pretty satisfied bunch. I've got
loyal friends who happen to have a great time working together, with
one another and with the good cops like you and Mercer."
"And you're going home, by yourself, to an empty apartment. With
nothing to eat in the refrigerator, nobody to keep you warm when the
heat goes off, and no way for anyone to know if you're dead or alive
until it's time to show up for work on Monday. It's pathetic. You
should have been on the last shuttle to Washington, slippin' into
Jake's hotel room—"
I stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind me. "When you
straighten out your own love life, instead of going home and playing
with yourself every night, then you can start giving advice to the
lovelorn."
He accelerated over the speed bumps and raced out of the driveway.
"Sorry." I nodded to the doorman. "Thanks for waiting."
"Miss Cooper? There was someone here an hour or two ago asking
questions about you."
I shivered. "Do you know who he was?"
"No, it wasn't a man. It was a young woman, actually. Wanted to know
if you lived here."
"What did you say?"
"Well, it was the new guy she spoke to, the one covering for the
holiday break. He thought she looked harmless enough. He told her that
you did live in the building before he even thought about why she might
be asking."
Great security. Must be why my rent is so high.
"What else
did she say?"
"She wanted to know if anybody else lived with you. She wanted to
know if you usually came home alone at night."
9
The light was flashing on my answering machine when I walked into my
bedroom at midnight. Jake said he and the film crew had gone out for
dinner, but he was back in his hotel room and would wait up awhile for
my call. The second caller was an unfamiliar voice.
"Miss Cooper? Hello? This is, um, Joan Ryan. I'm one of the
counselors in the Witness Aid Unit at the DA's office. We haven't met
yet, and this isn't exactly the way I, uh, wanted to introduce myself.
But I need to tell you about a problem on one of your cases.
"I've been counseling one of your victims, Shirley Denzig, you know
the one who claims the delivery guy attacked her? She was flirting with
him in the deli when she bought her dinner, and then she paid him to
bring up the dessert half an hour later?" Ryan was rambling now, in
that way people do on answering machines so it seems to the listener
that
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