CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GRACE
We’re in a tiny room on the basement level of the precinct, more matchbox than office. A skinny guy with whalebone glasses swivels in his Harmen Miller chair to face us. In his hand is Maurice’s cell. We retrieved it from the swimming pool along with a soggy eight ball and wad of cash. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much from it, but the grin on Tim the Toolman’s face tells me we’ve struck gold.
I lean up against his desk, a wall of computer screens at my back. “So, Specialist Electronics Sensei, tell me what you found once you wrung this thing out a little.”
Tim ignores Hunter and swivels back to his keyboard, bringing up a file on screen. I squint to make it out. “What’s this? A takeaway order?”
Tim’s smile doesn’t drop. “Looks a client list, actually.”
He’s right. Tim probably think it’s a list of customers, perhaps suppliers or others in the ring, but when I see the name ‘Ruby’ at the top in bold, I know what we’re looking at is far more valuable.
Hunter’s onto it, leaning over Tim’s shoulder to read. “It’s Rachel’s client list.”
I nod. “Looks like.” I run down the names until I hit the bottom and one name that stands out—the Captain’s, Rachel’s very last client. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
I place my hand on Tim’s shoulder and squeeze for emphasis. “Have you told anyone else about this? The Captain, any of the others?”
“The Captain?” laughs Tim, surprisingly outspoken for a weedy, nerdy type. “Fuck him. You know he made me work a double last week, no extra cream on top?”
I know Tim’s had the hots for me forever. I lean down so he can get a nice eyeful of my cleavage because I really don’t want him opening his mouth and screwing this up. “This is between us, yes? If anyone asks, you couldn’t recover anything, right?”
“Of course.” He winks, eyes dropping.
Gag. Twenty-first century be damned. Sometimes you’ve got to use every asset at your disposal, no matter how distasteful.
I stand upright. “Can you put that list on a flash drive for me?”
He opens his drawer and takes out a USB drive shaped to look like an actual thumb. It would be kind of morbid anywhere else. He plugs it in and with two taps he’s done, handing the ‘thumb’ drive over.
“And there are no copies on your machine or the servers?” I ask.
“Clean as a whistle in a washing machine.”
I lean down and give Tim a peck on a cheek, enough to see a flash of visible anger shift across Hunter’s face. It’s sort of turning me on knowing he’s jealous, and over poor, wouldn’t-know-his-dick-from-a-doorknob Tim of all people.
I slide the drive into my back pocket as we stand outside. “I’ll make that call, see if we can hunt down the Cap and wrap this shit-storm up.”
“I’ll be waiting,” says Hunter. He’s wearing a black Henley today and it’s doing miraculous things to that body.
I head out to the docking bay where I’m sure I won’t be disturbed, and punch in a number, bringing my cell to my ear.
“Tony, it’s Grace.”
“Siddell?”
“The one and only,” I reply. “How’s life with the Feds treating you?”
Stifled laughter follows. “There’s nothing treat-like about it. I’ll be balls-deep in reports until the Second Coming drinking shitty, recycled-sewerage coffee while dreaming about the Bahamas.”
“About the same as the NYPD then.”
“But you’re not calling to discuss coffee, are you?”
“I need a favor.”
A sigh. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“But not everyone saved your ass back at the Academy, did they? How the hell did you even get that on video, with your ankles behind her head like that?”
An ever more pronounced sigh follows. “Fine, fine. Spit it out.”
“I need a hit on Captain Lewis Johnson, New York Ninth Precinct.”
“Jesus, Grace.”
“A quickie. That’s all I’m asking.”
A beat of laughter. “You know what your answer was when I asked that question five years ago?”
I remember it well. “My idea of ‘quick’ isn’t ten seconds.”
“Brutal.”
“Please?”
“Well, since you asked nicely…”
I hear keys being tapped.
I wait.
“Ah,” comes Tony’s voice, “seems your captain is MIA, and you’re not the only one looking for him.”
“Who else?”
“Beats me. Higher than my paygrade, believe it or not.”
“You’ll let me know if he pops up?”
“Anything for you,” he answers sarcastically.
“I owe you.”
“Doesn’t everyone. Wait,” he says.
“What is it?”
“He’s there.”
“Where?”
“At the Ninth precinct, right now.”
I spin on the spot, looking around, but I can’t see the Captain anywhere. “Can you be more specific?”
“Somewhere in the middle? Signal’s in and out, sorry.”
“Thanks again.” I hang up and run back over to Hunter. “He’s here.”
Hunter lowers his voice. “The Captain?”
“Yes.”
Hunter looks around. “I don’t see him.”
I place my hand against Hunter’s chest before we enter the precinct. Fuck me it’s firm, a veritable vein of marble. I don’t know why I do it, but it’s comforting—grounding in a way I’m not used to.
He looks down. “What are you doing?”
I spot what’s-his-name on the front desk and jog over. Poor guy’s had a thing for me for years. His eyes fall immediately to my aforementioned assets. Jesus. Guys see the hint of a boob and they damn near drop half their brain cells. “Detective Siddell, what can, w— what can I do for you?” he stutters.
I place my elbows on the desk. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the Captain?”
The desk sergeant leans back, finally finding my eyes. “Saw him heading down to the cages.”
“The cages? When?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Fifteen minutes ago, maybe? He slipped in real quiet-like. Probably looking to bust some ass. You know how he likes it old-school.”
“For sure,” I reply, my mind racing. I wave Hunter over.
“So, ah,” the desk sergeant starts, and I know what’s coming, “you wouldn’t want to go out some time, would you? There’s this great place on…”
Hunter comes up to my side, the desk sergeant sliding him a suspicious look.
“What is it?” Hunter asks.
“He’s here,” I whisper.
“What about…?” the desk sergeant shouts.
“Another time!” I shout back.
Hunter follows me as I snake through desks to the lower level, passing the break room and nodding at the watchman. “You see the Cap?” I ask.
He sits up, pulling his eyes from his cell. “Yeah, just came through.”
“Fuck,” I start to run forward into the cells.
“Grace?” queries Hunter, but I don’t have time to explain.
I ignore the jeering and catcalls from the prisoners as I head to the cells at the end of the hallway. It’s fucking putrid down here.
“Detective!” shouts one guy. “Why don’t you come in here, put your pretty lips to work on my big juicy cock?”
Hunter stops to slam the bars of his cell. “How about I turn those pretty lips of yours black and blue?”
The prisoner backs off, but I’m still walking, half-running now to make it to the end of the hallway.
I stop at Maurice’s cell.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Maurice hangs from the light fixture, his tongue falling slack from his mouth, torn mattress covering making up the noose.
I try to open the cell door, but it’s locked.
“Guard!” I shout, turning around and hitting the emergency buzzer.
Hunter comes up beside me and sees Maurice swinging. “The hell?”
I look around, scanning, until I spot the Captain passing the guard at the other end of the hallway.
“Captain!” I shout. He turns, sees us, and runs.
It’s on.
“Go!” I shout.
I run with everything I’ve got, Hunter in front of me, but the Captain’s got distance on us. I don’t know how we missed him. He must have slipped into one of the empty cells when we passed.
The guard stands. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Cell Twenty-Two. See for yourself.”
We rush past him up the stairs.
There’ll be no security footage. You can be damn sure of that.
“Stop!” I yell, everyone in the precinct standing and craning to see what’s going on.
The Captain manages to make it outside.
I slip and almost go down, Hunter reaching back to help me to my feet.
He’s going to get away, I think.
Hunter whips through the front doors.
I follow a few seconds later and get a visual on the Captain turning down the alley next to the precinct.
I enter the alleyway, Hunter emerging from my three and powering through a burst of steam from a nearby manhole.
The Captain leaps up onto a fence at the end of the alleyway, but slips and falls onto his ass.
Too many trans fats for you, I think.
He gets up and starts climbing, tumbling over the fence into the alley beyond, but Hunter’s already at the fence.
With a screech, a car backs up past the fence almost taking out the Captain in its haste. A side door pops open and the Captain swings in, the car burning away in a flurry of smoke.
I smash both hands against the fence. “Fuck!”
I push off it, my hands in my hair. So close.
“You get the plate?” I ask Hunter.
He’s looking down with his hands on his hips. “No, but…” He reaches down and picks up a black cell phone, holding it up. It looks like a burner, has to be the Captain’s. He probably doesn’t even know he dropped it. “These things are just falling out the sky today, aren’t they?”