system. Certain looks or nods or facial expressions represented signals. Al gave her a quick glance and his eyebrows twitched, warning her to be prepared for something unpleasant.
Davison pointed to his watch. "Your alarm clock broken?"
She hadn't left the office until after seven yesterday and thought she'd been entitled to a little slack this morning. By the agitated look on Davison's face, apparently not. "Worked late last night."
The captain, Sami thought, must have bought his brown suit long before the birth of his beer gut. His pants were so tight he had to wear them below his belly. The bottom of his shirt pulled apart.
"I have some rather alarming news," Davison said.
At first, Sami panicked, immediately concluding that the captain had decided to yank her off the case. But then she realized such an unpleasant conversation would most certainly take place behind closed doors where the rest of the detective squad would be insulated from the bitter yelling. "Should I sit?" Sami asked.
The captain let out a heavy sigh. "We found Peggy McDonald's body."
Sami felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. "Where?"
"On the front steps of Saint Francis of Assisi's Church in El Cajon."
"When?"
"Early this morning. Just before sunrise."
"And the little girl?"
Al stood up and stepped toward his partner. "Nothing on her. Yet."
A lot of questions whirled through Sami's mind, but suddenly she recognized that the captain hadn't followed protocol. "Captain, why wasn't I called?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't get the call myself until almost eight. Thought you were en route."
Sami felt that she needed to justify her tardy arrival. "The only reason I'm late--"
"Save it, Rizzo," Davison said, his voice edgy. "If you didn't bust your ass every day, you'd be wearing a blue uniform and walking a beat in South San Diego. Besides, we've got more important issues to discuss." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Why don't you two step into my office?"
The moment Captain Davison sat behind his desk, he lit a cigarette. After witnessing this phenomenon dozens of times, Sami concluded that Davison's habit was more reflexive than conscious. She wondered if he truly enjoyed smoking. Most of the time, halfway through a cigarette, he'd go through coughing episodes so severe that it sounded like he'd hack his lungs out all over the desk.
As always, Al looked as passive as a man getting his fingernails manicured. Sami felt anxious. Davison leaned back in his squeaky armchair, sucked on the unfiltered Camel, captured the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, then exhaled a blue cloud. "You two got one week to find this guy. I'd take you off the investigation right now, but neither of you has ever let me down." Directing his words to Sami, the captain fixed his eyes on her. "I'm going to stick my neck out and assure the chief you'll make an arrest by next Friday. Don't make me a liar."
After digesting his words, Sami said, "Tell me about Peggy McDonald's body."
The captain sat forward and rested his elbows on the desk. "Find out for yourself." He glanced at his watch. "Her autopsy begins in an hour."
Autopsies were an integral function of the investigative process; the gory part that Sami loathed. Thus far, forensic medicine had uncovered little information that offered a lead in this case. Sami never had the stomach for blood and guts. In fact, she didn't even like watching medical dramas on television. At times like this, when faced with an aspect of her job that she truly abhorred, Sami questioned why she'd kept her promise to her father. She'd been sucked into this career, seduced by the illusion of serving society. It felt like a one-way street with nowhere to turn around, no side streets to change directions.
Even if she'd decided to pursue another career, economics and her responsibility to Angelina made it impractical for her to consider furthering her education, which was the only possible way
Davison pointed to his watch. "Your alarm clock broken?"
She hadn't left the office until after seven yesterday and thought she'd been entitled to a little slack this morning. By the agitated look on Davison's face, apparently not. "Worked late last night."
The captain, Sami thought, must have bought his brown suit long before the birth of his beer gut. His pants were so tight he had to wear them below his belly. The bottom of his shirt pulled apart.
"I have some rather alarming news," Davison said.
At first, Sami panicked, immediately concluding that the captain had decided to yank her off the case. But then she realized such an unpleasant conversation would most certainly take place behind closed doors where the rest of the detective squad would be insulated from the bitter yelling. "Should I sit?" Sami asked.
The captain let out a heavy sigh. "We found Peggy McDonald's body."
Sami felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. "Where?"
"On the front steps of Saint Francis of Assisi's Church in El Cajon."
"When?"
"Early this morning. Just before sunrise."
"And the little girl?"
Al stood up and stepped toward his partner. "Nothing on her. Yet."
A lot of questions whirled through Sami's mind, but suddenly she recognized that the captain hadn't followed protocol. "Captain, why wasn't I called?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't get the call myself until almost eight. Thought you were en route."
Sami felt that she needed to justify her tardy arrival. "The only reason I'm late--"
"Save it, Rizzo," Davison said, his voice edgy. "If you didn't bust your ass every day, you'd be wearing a blue uniform and walking a beat in South San Diego. Besides, we've got more important issues to discuss." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Why don't you two step into my office?"
The moment Captain Davison sat behind his desk, he lit a cigarette. After witnessing this phenomenon dozens of times, Sami concluded that Davison's habit was more reflexive than conscious. She wondered if he truly enjoyed smoking. Most of the time, halfway through a cigarette, he'd go through coughing episodes so severe that it sounded like he'd hack his lungs out all over the desk.
As always, Al looked as passive as a man getting his fingernails manicured. Sami felt anxious. Davison leaned back in his squeaky armchair, sucked on the unfiltered Camel, captured the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, then exhaled a blue cloud. "You two got one week to find this guy. I'd take you off the investigation right now, but neither of you has ever let me down." Directing his words to Sami, the captain fixed his eyes on her. "I'm going to stick my neck out and assure the chief you'll make an arrest by next Friday. Don't make me a liar."
After digesting his words, Sami said, "Tell me about Peggy McDonald's body."
The captain sat forward and rested his elbows on the desk. "Find out for yourself." He glanced at his watch. "Her autopsy begins in an hour."
Autopsies were an integral function of the investigative process; the gory part that Sami loathed. Thus far, forensic medicine had uncovered little information that offered a lead in this case. Sami never had the stomach for blood and guts. In fact, she didn't even like watching medical dramas on television. At times like this, when faced with an aspect of her job that she truly abhorred, Sami questioned why she'd kept her promise to her father. She'd been sucked into this career, seduced by the illusion of serving society. It felt like a one-way street with nowhere to turn around, no side streets to change directions.
Even if she'd decided to pursue another career, economics and her responsibility to Angelina made it impractical for her to consider furthering her education, which was the only possible way
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