black mark on the other partner’s record. She wondered what reason for reassignment Cromwell had put in the official request.
As though he read her mind, Croken said, “Detective Cromwell claims you were insubordinate, didn’t back him up in a dangerous situation, and”—here Croken paused—“that you have a substance abuse problem.”
Jennifer knew these charges made by an experienced detective with years of service with the Bethesda Police Department could ruin her career. Even if she rebutted the charges and won in a hearing, she would be tainted forever within the good old boy network. “I . . . that’s all nonsense. You can’t believe I—”
Croken raised a hand to stop her. “You’re right, Ramsey. I don’t believe a word of it. I’ll make this paperwork disappear. But I’ll give Cromwell another partner. He’s off the Hood investigation. I want you to take it over. I’ll assign you another partner as soon as I can. But for now, you’re on your own. You’re doing a great job. Don’t let assholes like Cromwell affect your attitude about a career in law enforcement.” Croken gave her a brief smile and added, “Now get out there and find the killer.”
Jennifer said, “Thanks, Lieutenant,” and backed out the door. Croken’s nose was already buried in some report.
APRIL 18
CHAPTER 18
The shrill ring of his cellphone brought Toney out of an erotic dream. Not quite sure where he was and still half asleep, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the bedside clock: 6:17 a.m. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello,” in a voice thick with fatigue.
“You’d better have something good to report,” Rolf Bishop said.
The man had a way about him that caused Toney to produce massive quantities of adrenaline and stomach acid every time he spoke to him—or whenever he just thought about him.
Toney took a deep breath. “I got everything under control,” he said.
“When you’ve completed your assignment, then I’ll know everything’s under control,” Bishop snapped. “Until that happens, nothing’s under control, and your assurances are nothing but bullshit. I’m sick and tired of excuses. If you don’t solve the problem by noon today, I’ll have it solved some other way. Understand?”
Toney was wide-awake now, and frightened. Bishop had just told him he was about to be fired. The thought of losing his meal ticket panicked him.
Elderly female shoppers know that if they don’t get to the market early, all the best fresh produce and choicest cuts of meat will already be sold. So, early most mornings a gang of old, gray-haired women, many of them widows dressed in black, marched into Bartolucci’s Market. While they shopped, they caught up on gossip—complained about lazy daughters-in-law who spent their beloved sons’ hard-earned money; or how no good sons-in-law treated their innocent, kind-hearted, virginal daughters. And of course, they boasted of their beautiful, brilliant, and athletic grandchildren who loved their grandmothers more than anyone else.
David Hood entered that stage at 7 a.m.
“ Ciao ,” Gino said from his office doorway.
David walked over to Gino and they hugged. Gino turned and led the way into his office. David sat down. Gino closed the door and moved to his desk chair.
“They were killed because of me,” David blurted. “I’ve got to find out why.”
“You don’t know that,” Gino said. “It could have been something else.” He thought, Maybe it was retaliation for something I did. Although he didn’t believe it.
“I’ve got to destroy the people who did this.”
Gino was worried. The last thing he wanted David to do was sacrifice his own life in pursuit of revenge. “You let me handle this, David!” Gino said. “Your hands never have to get dirty.”
“I want to get my hands dirty.”
Gino needed to keep David out of the revenge business. It was only a matter of time before he got his hands on the mulanyan who had
As though he read her mind, Croken said, “Detective Cromwell claims you were insubordinate, didn’t back him up in a dangerous situation, and”—here Croken paused—“that you have a substance abuse problem.”
Jennifer knew these charges made by an experienced detective with years of service with the Bethesda Police Department could ruin her career. Even if she rebutted the charges and won in a hearing, she would be tainted forever within the good old boy network. “I . . . that’s all nonsense. You can’t believe I—”
Croken raised a hand to stop her. “You’re right, Ramsey. I don’t believe a word of it. I’ll make this paperwork disappear. But I’ll give Cromwell another partner. He’s off the Hood investigation. I want you to take it over. I’ll assign you another partner as soon as I can. But for now, you’re on your own. You’re doing a great job. Don’t let assholes like Cromwell affect your attitude about a career in law enforcement.” Croken gave her a brief smile and added, “Now get out there and find the killer.”
Jennifer said, “Thanks, Lieutenant,” and backed out the door. Croken’s nose was already buried in some report.
APRIL 18
CHAPTER 18
The shrill ring of his cellphone brought Toney out of an erotic dream. Not quite sure where he was and still half asleep, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the bedside clock: 6:17 a.m. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello,” in a voice thick with fatigue.
“You’d better have something good to report,” Rolf Bishop said.
The man had a way about him that caused Toney to produce massive quantities of adrenaline and stomach acid every time he spoke to him—or whenever he just thought about him.
Toney took a deep breath. “I got everything under control,” he said.
“When you’ve completed your assignment, then I’ll know everything’s under control,” Bishop snapped. “Until that happens, nothing’s under control, and your assurances are nothing but bullshit. I’m sick and tired of excuses. If you don’t solve the problem by noon today, I’ll have it solved some other way. Understand?”
Toney was wide-awake now, and frightened. Bishop had just told him he was about to be fired. The thought of losing his meal ticket panicked him.
Elderly female shoppers know that if they don’t get to the market early, all the best fresh produce and choicest cuts of meat will already be sold. So, early most mornings a gang of old, gray-haired women, many of them widows dressed in black, marched into Bartolucci’s Market. While they shopped, they caught up on gossip—complained about lazy daughters-in-law who spent their beloved sons’ hard-earned money; or how no good sons-in-law treated their innocent, kind-hearted, virginal daughters. And of course, they boasted of their beautiful, brilliant, and athletic grandchildren who loved their grandmothers more than anyone else.
David Hood entered that stage at 7 a.m.
“ Ciao ,” Gino said from his office doorway.
David walked over to Gino and they hugged. Gino turned and led the way into his office. David sat down. Gino closed the door and moved to his desk chair.
“They were killed because of me,” David blurted. “I’ve got to find out why.”
“You don’t know that,” Gino said. “It could have been something else.” He thought, Maybe it was retaliation for something I did. Although he didn’t believe it.
“I’ve got to destroy the people who did this.”
Gino was worried. The last thing he wanted David to do was sacrifice his own life in pursuit of revenge. “You let me handle this, David!” Gino said. “Your hands never have to get dirty.”
“I want to get my hands dirty.”
Gino needed to keep David out of the revenge business. It was only a matter of time before he got his hands on the mulanyan who had
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