Chapter 16

      “I’m making a few changes in the assignments,” Squill said, dealing papers around the table like cards. I slapped down the one that flew at me. “Don’t read ahead, Ryder,” Squill said. “I’ll walk you through it.”

      Today’s meeting held the usual crowd. Plus Blasingame had brought one of his sergeants, Wally Daller. Burlew was doing pushoffs from the wall and further straining the seams of his rumpled brown suit jacket. I smelled a gray sweat coming from him, like opening an old gym locker. He waited until his master passed out all the papers before sitting.

      Squill said, “One of the reasons this case is going nowhere is diffusion. No focus, and poor communication.”

      “Excuse me, Captain,” I said, “but we have meetings every morning.”

      Squill threw his sheaf of papers down. “Another reason it’s in the crapper is I can’t get two words out without you contradicting me, Ryder.”

      “I’m not contradicting, I’m enlightening.”

      “I’ve had all the smart-mouth I can take.”

      Harry nudged me with his leg. “We’re listening, Captain,” he said.

      Squill waited until the silence in the room turned uncomfortable before continuing. “Everyone’s running the same ground. We need to become specialists. Each team has to take a portion of the puzzle and dissect it.”

      I started to speak, but Harry’s knee smacked me quiet. Squill flicked his sheet with a shiny tailored nail. “I’ve made new assignments. I want Nautilus and Ryder to concentrate solely on Deschamps. I want to know everyone he talked to in the last six months, every meal he ate, who he fucked in his wet dreams.”

      My hands squeezed the table’s edge. Stay down. Breathe.

      Squill continued. “As for Nelson, I want his investigation to continue in the same fashion, but with Sergeant Daller at lead.”

       Wally Daller?

      “Take it easy, Cars,” Harry whispered.

      I liked Wally. Everybody liked Wally. He was our comedian, more off-color stories than a Shriners convention. But he had analytical tunnel vision; ask him to investigate a road and he’d give you the total number of white stripes down its middle. I figured Nelson was an intersection of invisible lines: the first chosen, the missing papers, a lifestyle more likely to touch aberrant psychologies. Wally didn’t know dysfunctional psyches, he knew, “There’s a priest, a rabbi, and a hooker in a pork dress…”

      “Begging the captain’s pardon,” I said, “but Harry and I’ve established relationships with people close to Nelson. We’re unraveling threads that might—”

      “You’ve gotten too near these people. We need fresh eyes and new threads.”

      “Fresh eyes? You mean start from the begi—”

      “You’re running in circles, it’s not working,” Squill snapped.

      “In the Adrian case I moved between the victims to establish—”

      “Get the hell out of this room, Ryder.”

      “You said running in circles? What’s that mean?”

      “Now. Go outside, Ryder. You’re done here.”

      “There are dead people. I’m not done.” I felt hot sand rising in my throat, my voice rasping.

      “Git,” Harry whispered.

      Squill said, “Every time I try to speak you’re in my mouth telling me what I’m doing wrong. Insubordination is a big deal in my department, mister. Get the hell out of here while you’re still a detective.”

      “Insubordination? If you think—”

      “Git, dammit,” Harry hissed.

      The assignment sheet crumpled in my fist like foil as I closed the door behind me. I went back to my desk and waited. Harry reappeared ten minutes later. I was up before he got halfway across the floor.

      “Wally! He put Wally Daller in charge of investigating Nelson, Harry. He wants us off Nelson. Why?”

      Harry sat heavily and pressed his knuckles to his temples.

      “Come on, Harry, give. We can’t let—”

      “Shut up, Carson. For once. Please just give my aching ears a rest.”

      “There’s a guy out there chopping off heads, Harry.”

      He banged his desk with his fist. Everything on the desk jumped an inch. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t care? What? You think you’re the only person in the whole department, Carson-fucking-Ryder, give me a high five, Harry, we whipped their asses, Harry?”

      I jabbed my finger toward the meeting room. “You didn’t say jackshit in there.”

      Harry’s jaw twitched. “Don’t you tell me when to move my lips.”

      “Why didn’t you back me up?”

      “Same reason I don’t bet on three-legged horses.”

      “I was trying to keep our hands in Nelson’s case. That’s where the break’ll come from.”

      Harry flung his hand up, thumb and index finger touching. “You came about a shit-hair’s distance from getting us kicked off everything, that’s what you did.”

      “Squill wouldn’t do that.”

      “He’s doing it right now, you’re just too dumb to see it. He pokes, you squeal, he runs and tells Hyrum you’re an insubordinate pain in the ass who got lucky once but who’s now upsetting the applecart. Hyrum nods and says, ‘Do what you have to do, Terrence.’”

      “We can nail this if he’ll give us room to move.”

      Harry rolled his eyes. I said, “What? Squill doesn’t want it solved?”

      “On his terms and putting the glory on him alone. Here’s surprising news, Cars, you’re not the only detective in the department.”

      “It’s a Piss-it case, Harry. It’s ours.”

      “Did those pretty birdies come with your crib? The ones spinning above your head? Grow up, Carson, what’s ours is what Squill tells us is ours.”

      “The manual says—”

      “If the manual said it was going to rain pussy at noon, you’d be out there with a net, wouldn’t you?”

      I opened my drawer just so I could slam it shut. Harry had his phone on speaker and the desk clerk announced a call. “Says his name is Jersey, Harry. Said you wanted him put through.”

      Harry clicked off the speaker and turned away with his hand cupping the phone. I figured Harry was talking to old Poke Trenary, a janitor at City Hall. Several times while in that citadel of mirrors I’d seen Harry glide the slow-mopping Poke to a quiet corner for a fast milking. Harry put down the phone and whispered, “Damn.”

      “Damn what? Yankees? The torpedoes?”

      “I was thinking because Hyrum retires in September the chief decision would be in September. I forgot about get-ready time. The commissioners decide early, then work on transition crap. The decision’ll be made at the next executive session, when they get to close the door. They won’t vote or anything, but they’ll weigh the input, and make the decision, and it’ll hold until the official announcement in a few weeks.”

      “And this unofficial coronation