On that note, she pivoted on her sensible heel and pushed into the waiting room.
Okay . . . ouch. But he couldn’t blame her.
Instead of following her inside, he just stood there like a plank as the door shut in his face, preoccupied by wanting to kick his own ass. Next thing he knew, the scent of fresh coffee announced that his partner had come up to him.
José de la Cruz looked tired, but alert, which was the man’s SOP. “How we doing?”
“Shitty.”
“You don’t say.” He handed over one of the two coffees in his mitts. “Drink this. Or maybe mainline it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You ready?”
No. “Yeah.”
As they went into the office, Reilly glanced over to good-morning de la Cruz, then went back to talking to the sarge’s assistant.
Veck parked it on one of the old-school wooden chairs that were lined up against the wood-paneled walls of the sergeant’s outer office. Drinking the coffee, he watched Reilly and noticed all kinds of minute details about her: the way she fussed with her right earring, like the back was loose; how she tended to bend her leg and tap the toe of her shoe when she was making a point; the fact that when she smiled, she had a gold filling on an upper molar that flashed ever so slightly.
She was really attractive. Like, really attractive.
“So, I tried to call you last night,” de la Cruz said quietly.
“My cell’s at the lab right now.”
“You really should get a landline.”
“Yeah.” He looked at his partner. “Guess they didn’t find much out there in the woods.”
“Nada.”
They sat side by side, drinking out of those paper mugs with the card deck suits on them. The coffee tasted awful, but it was hot and gave him something to do.
“You thought about killing Kroner, didn’t you.” As Veck shot a glance over, the other detective shrugged. “I saw you with that paparazzo, remember. I was the one who pulled you off of him. Lot of anger.”
Veck resumed staring at Reilly, glad she was deep in conversation. Nodding in her direction, he said softly, “She doesn’t think I did it. I’m getting the impression you do, however.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Don’t have to.”
“Nah, I saw the shape Kroner was in. Saw you, too. That’s an equation that doesn’t add up.”
“So why bring up intent?”
“Because I think it’s on your mind.”
Veck made a noncommittal noise. “If she recommends that I stay on active duty, are you going to have a problem with that.”
“No, but I think you shouldn’t be out on the streets alone right now.”
Funny, he felt the same way. And wasn’t that a bitch. “We gonna be grafted at the hip, then?”
The sarge opened his office door and stuck his gray-haired head out. “Let’s do this.”
Reilly unplugged from the assistant, and Veck and de la Cruz followed her into the larger office beyond. The conference table in the far corner was big enough to seat everyone comfortably, and she took the chair farthest away from Veck—which meant she was right across from him. No eye contact; no surprise.
Fucking hell.
“So I’ve read the report you e-mailed me,” the sergeant said to Reilly. “Anything else?”
“Just this addendum which I also sent through.” She passed copies around, and then entwined her fingers together and sat back. “I stand by my conclusions.”
The sarge looked over at de la Cruz. “Anything to add?”
“No. I’ve read the report as well and it says it all.”
“Then I’m prepared to agree with Officer Reilly.” The sergeant stared hard at Veck. “I like you. You’re my kind of cop. But I won’t keep anyone under the badge who’s a danger to others. Reilly here’s your new partner—I can’t spare de la Cruz for the probational hand-holding period I’m laying on you. Which is a month, minimum.”
Reilly showed no reaction to the reassignment, but she was a professional, wasn’t she.
“Can I work on Kroner?” Veck asked.
“Not on your life. You’ll be focusing on cold cases for the next thirty days, as well as meeting with Dr. Riccard.”
Ah, yes, the departmental shrink. And in the silence that followed, he knew everyone was waiting for him to groan, but he wasn’t a Lethal Weapon wild card, damn it.
Yeah. For example, he couldn’t dislocate his shoulder, he didn’t live on the beach with a dog, and he wasn’t rocking a death wish. You’re welcome.
“Okay.”
Sarge seemed a little surprised, but then he knocked on his table with his knuckles, which Veck took as the guy’s way of expressing satisfaction. “Good. De la Cruz, I want to talk to you. The pair of you—we’re done.”
Reilly was up and out of the office faster than a bullet, but two could shoot that quick. Veck got right on her tail, and he caught her in the outside hallway.
“So how’s this going to work,” he said.
That was all he had. The apology route hadn’t worked, and somehow he didn’t think thanking her for the report was going to fly, either.
She shrugged. “I’ll wrap up what I’m working on this morning, and then we’ll focus on cold cases.”
“For thirty days.”
“Thirty days.” She didn’t look enthused, but neither did she seem to dread the prospect. Which told him she was not an easy poker target if they had downtime. “I’ll see you at one o’clock in your department, Detective.”
“Roger that, Officer.”
As she walked off, she made some notes in her file, her head buried in work. A couple of guys from the beat passed her and looked her way, their focus lingering, as if they were hoping to catch her eye. She didn’t look up, though. Didn’t notice.
Veck sure as hell did. And found that he wanted to perform an optical adjustment on the bastards.
“You left this in the sarge’s office.”
Veck turned. De la Cruz had come out and had Veck’s coffee.
Well, this wasn’t awkward. Nope.
“Thanks, man.” Veck palmed the paper mug and took a draw from the rim. The shit was now lukewarm, its only redeeming factor gone. “Well, it was nice working with you.”
“Same.” José put his palm out. “But who knows, maybe you’ll be reassigned to me in a month.”
“Yeah.” Somehow, though, Veck had a feeling his days with the CPD were numbered.
They walked back to Homicide together in silence, and when they opened the door to the department, every single detective in there looked around the gray partition walls of his or her cubicle.
Veck saw no reason to sugarcoat things. “On duty. Off Kroner. With Reilly.”
A lot of nodding came back at him, and, man, he appreciated people being cool. Then again, these were decent folks doing a hard job on a shoestring budget, and there wasn’t a lot of time for bullshit. Besides, good or bad, after he’d coldcocked that paparazzo, he’d earned a lot of respect.
As everyone returned to work, José clapped him on the shoulder and headed off to his own desk.
Veck didn’t waste time. He parked it in his chair, signed into the computer, and checked his e-mail.
Cold cases, huh. That was a pretty goddamn broad category.
Going into the departmental database, he called up all missing persons reports. Which were technically cold cases, weren’t they, assuming they were still open. Initiating a search, he leaned back and let the computer do its thing. The fact that the data screen he used just happened to be women aged sixteen to thirty who’d been reported in the last, oh, say . . . three weeks? When Kroner happened to be busy in the area?
Wasn’t that a coincidence.
CHAPTER 7
At twelve o’clock, Reilly left the station house on foot and headed into deep downtown. The day was glorious, the April sun so bright and warm that it chased away the bite of the fifty-five-degree air. She was not the only one taking advantage of the weather. People were out on the sidewalks and crosswalks in droves, clogging traffic while they strolled with sodas or ice cream in their hands, or carried their take-out to the lip of a fountain or the contour of an iron bench in the park.