The Apostrophe Thief (2 page)

Whoa. That would sound as if she'd resigned in a fit of pique because DiFalco stole her thunder; whatever she said would be dismissed as sour grapes. This needed more thought.

Captain DiFalco was on the phone when she stepped into his office. He pointed to a chair, finished his conversation, and hung up. “Glad you're here—shooflies are on their way over. I didn't expect you before noon.”

“Loose ends need tying up.”

“Yah.” He thought a minute. “The thing is not to get angry,” he said. “They'll try to provoke you, bug you into blurting out something or contradicting yourself.” He stared up at the ceiling. “It's IA's job to try to trip you up.”

“I know,” she answered. “I've had a brush with Internal Affairs before. A detective at Police Headquarters was being investigated.” Where she'd worked before being transferred to the Ninth Precinct.

“Investigated for what?”

“For accepting bribes. There was nothing to it—some dealer he'd arrested tried to get a little payback by accusing him of being on the take. Still, IA made everybody connected feel like dirty corrupt sleazescum not worth wiping their feet on … even those of us who were just witnesses.”

DiFalco was nodding, his eyes unfocused. “That's Internal Affairs, all right. Look, they'll be talking to you in Baxter's office. Just tell it straight, answer their questions as briefly as possible, and don't volunteer anything.”

“All right. I thought Lieutenant Baxter was getting back from vacation today.”

“He's back. But IA asked for a private room and that's it. After they finish with you, they're going to talk to Holland. I sure as hell hope your stories jibe.”

“They will.” Unreasonably, she resented the casual way the captain tossed off the name.

“Then you've got no problem. It was a righteous kill, Larch. They have to investigate, but they got nothing.” A pause. “You holding up all right?”

Marian was bemused by this new solicitous attitude on the captain's part. Was this the way he was going to play it—they just weren't going to
mention
anything wrong between them? They were going to pretend she hadn't acted against orders and he hadn't grabbed the credit for her work? DiFalco hadn't looked her straight in the eye once since she'd come in.

Marian told him she was holding up as well as could be expected. “Where is Holland? Is he here?”

“Coming in at eleven. The FBI wants to talk to you too. They're going to keep you and Holland separated until you've made your statements.” Still not looking her in the eye. “Are you sure the two of you are telling the same story?”

“I'm sure.”

“Good. There's one more thing. You're going to have to see the police psychiatrist”

“Captain—”

“It's mandatory, Larch, you know that. You're involved in a shooting, you see the psychiatrist. You have to convince him you're fit to return to duty. Can you do that?”

“Oh, I suppose. I'm not suicidal, if that's what he's looking for.”

“I don't know what the hell he's looking for. Play it by ear. But make him see you're handling it. You've got a three o'clock appointment—the FBI should be finished with you by then.”

Marian wasn't thinking about the psychiatrist or the FBI as much as she was about DiFalco. The conversation seemed to be over, so she got up and left. DiFalco was playing for time, most likely, waiting to see whether she was going to make waves or not. Ha! She'd show him waves. Get a life
jacket
, Captain.

Foley got up and left his desk when he saw her coming back. Marian sank down in her chair dispiritedly. Her so-called partner and her two-faced captain—the two people who should be her closest allies, and both were enemies. DiFalco was interested only in making the right career moves, and Foley … Foley wasn't interested in anything. Neither of them should be a cop. Yet they were staying and she was leaving.

Marian found a note on her desk in Gloria Sanchez's handwriting:
Kelly called
. Marian frowned. She should have phoned her friend, early, before Kelly had time to see the news. Yet she was reluctant to call even now. Marian didn't mind lying to her police superiors, since they weren't going to be her superiors much longer. But lying to Kelly … that was hard.

“Sanchez!” said a new voice. “You and Roberts—in my office.” The speaker was a stocky, hoarse-voiced man doing his best to look and sound tough; the results were spectacularly unsuccessful, especially as he was wearing a necktie decorated with mermaids.

Sanchez groaned. “I was thinking of taking some personal time.”

“Take it tomorrow,” said the hoarse growl. “Smash-and-grab on Tenth Street, an electronics store. Same MO as the others, but this time a bystander was hurt.”

“I worked late last night!”

“Unauthorized overtime, the way I hear it.” He looked down at Marian. “And you've been busy, too, Larch. Congratulations on a good shoot.”

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Marian said. “Enjoy your vacation?”

“I never enjoy my vacations,” Lieutenant Baxter replied, “because I know every time I go away something is going to happen here. It never fails! I take even one day off, something happens.”

Marian was tempted to say something happened there
every
day, whether he was there or not. “Hazard of the profession.”

“Got your report on last night made out?”

“Working on it now.”

“Don't leave anything out, Larch. That report's going to both Internal Affairs and the FBI, and they'll be looking for mistakes. Be
very
careful.”

“I always am, Lieutenant.”

“Good.” Baxter looked around. “Where's Roberts?”

“Right here,” Gloria Sanchez's partner said from behind him.

“Let's go.” The lieutenant chugged off toward his office, the two detectives trailing behind.

Sanchez looked back over her shoulder. “Don't forget to call Kelly.”

Marian nodded, but decided to finish her report first. When she was done, she read it through three times, searching for mistakes or omissions. It looked okay to her. She signed and dated it and turned it in.

Foley still hadn't come back. Just as well; she didn't want him listening in on a private conversation, especially one in which she was going to lie to her closest friend. Marian squared her shoulders and tapped out Kelly Ingram's number. Kelly picked up the receiver on the first ring. “Before you say a word,” Marian spoke hastily, “I'm all right. I wasn't hurt, and I'm not wallowing in guilt. Do you hear me, Kelly? I'm
all right
.”

A big sigh floated over the line. “You really truly honestly
are
all right?”

“Really truly honestly.”

“Maybe it hasn't hit you yet?”

“Oh, it's hit me, no mistake about that.” Marian took a deep breath and elaborated on the lie. “Kelly, it's something I've always known could happen sooner or later, and I was as prepared for it as anyone reasonably could be. I knew last night would be dangerous, and I braced myself for it going in.” Her mouth tasted sour.

The seconds ticked off silently. It was the calm before the storm: “
You could have been killed!
” Kelly shouted. “He could have shot you! He could have shot you and Holland and anybody else he felt like shooting! How
dare
you take this so calmly! Why aren't you a basket case? Why aren't you screaming and hollering and pounding your fists on your desk? And what do you mean, you
prepared
yourself? How can you prepare yourself for killing someone? This whole thing is
unnatural
, and aren't you glad I called to cheer you up?”

Marian laughed in spite of herself. “I called
you
.”

“I called first. Marian, why did
you
have to go after him? Of all the cops there are in this city, why did it have to be
you
?” Her voice broke. “You could have been killed.”

Aw. “Hey, Kel, listen. It's over. Put it out of your mind.”

“Easier said than done.” A sound something like a snuffle came over the line. “Can you get free for lunch? Or dinner?”

“Dinner. What time do you have to be at the theater?”

“No performance tonight—Monday, remember? The director's called us in this afternoon to smooth out a few rough spots, but we should be finished by six. Seven at the latest. How about seven-thirty at Sonderman's?”

“I'll be there. And Kelly, don't feel bad. There's no need, I promise you. Hold on a sec.” Her thorn-in-the-side partner had come up to her desk and was grinning evilly at her. “What, Foley?”

“Shooflies want you. In the lieutenant's office.”

Marian's stomach knotted; she wasn't as ready for this as she thought. “Gotta go, Kelly. See you at seven-thirty.”

When she'd hung up, Marian took a moment to compose herself. She hoped Holland appreciated what she was going through to keep his neck off the block. Hold it … not fair. It had been her idea to take the responsibility for the shooting; Holland had been ready to face the music when she stepped in, diverting official attention from him toward herself.
It was your choice; now get yourself together
.

Temporarily kicked out of his own quarters, Lieutenant Baxter was busying himself at a file cabinet and sneaking looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Marian stood up and walked purposively toward Baxter's office, steeling herself for her confrontation with Internal Affairs.

2

Her interrogation by Internal Affairs was indeed high-sweat, but not the devastating ordeal she'd expected. It was a given that cops had the right to kill to save their own lives; the two men from IA were interested only in nailing down the fact of self-defense. Marian was one of their own and if she had indeed been threatened, no censure would result.

The two IA men, named Connelly and Reed, had her go over her account of the previous night's events again and again, giving her every opportunity to contradict herself or slip up in some other way. They asked questions, they wanted details of things she hadn't even noticed, they made her relive the scene minute by painful minute. But Marian stuck to her story, which was truthful except for that one minor matter of who actually did the shooting.

There was one sticky moment. Marian told them she'd been acting independently, that Captain DiFalco had, in fact, pulled her off the case. “He thought he had it solved, you see,” she explained. It was only when she'd proved him wrong that he stepped forward and claimed Marian had been following his orders all along.

The Internal Affairs men were interested, in an unofficial way; Connelly even appeared amused. “DiFalco lied?”

“He lied.” No elaboration necessary.

Connelly barked a laugh. “Doesn't surprise me. DiFalco could get something for himself out of an earthquake.”

But Reed didn't find it amusing. “Sergeant, did somebody hear him order you off the case? Was anyone else around?”

Marian thought back. “No, we were alone.”

“Any paperwork? Anything in writing to show he pulled you off?”

“Nothing.”

“Then it's the word of a sergeant against the word of a captain?” Reed spread his hands. “Not good, Larch, not good. Better be careful what you say.”

Marian felt like a fool. In anticipating the pleasure of exposing DiFalco, she'd never considered the possibility that she might not be believed. Reed was right; the word of a captain would be taken over that of one of his subordinates. She shook her head angrily. Too much trauma in the last twenty-four hours; she wasn't thinking straight.

But Internal Affairs wasn't probing into Ninth Precinct politics and the two men had Marian go over her story one more time. Eventually they were satisfied and told her she could go. “All we need is Holland's corroboration and it'll go down as a righteous kill,” Connelly said. “We ought to be able to wrap this thing up today.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “That was good shooting, Sergeant.”

So it was over. As she got up to leave Lieutenant Baxter's office, it occurred to Marian that the interrogation would have gone even more smoothly without the complicating presence of the FBI. They would be checking into what happened every bit as thoroughly as Internal Affairs. It was the joint police-FBI investigation that had thrown Holland and her together in the first place. Holland was an FBI agent—correction:
yesterday
Holland was an FBI agent, as dissatisfied with his job as Marian was with hers. Today he was … what? A free man? Unemployed? While Marian had only thought about resigning, he had actually done it.

So it was with her thoughts full of Holland that she opened the door and found herself face-to-face with the man himself. Two other men were with him—FBI, of course. A tired-looking Holland stared at her with eyes like dark bruises, and she felt a quick surge of that same craving that had propelled them toward each other the night before. Marian caught her breath and pushed the feeling down. Holland was pressing his lips together … doing the same thing?

But before either one of them could speak, one of the other men said, “Sergeant Larch? I'm Agent Greer, and I must inform you there's to be no communication between you and former agent Holland until this inquiry is completed. Do you understand?”

Irritated, she said, “Of course I understand.”

“Then I must ask you to come back to Bureau headquarters with me. I've cleared it with your captain.”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.” So polite.

Holland gave her a wry half-smile and stepped into Lieutenant Baxter's office for his turn with Internal Affairs. The other FBI man followed him in.

“Do you have a raincoat?” Agent Greer asked. “Nasty out.”

Marian collected her raincoat and handbag and followed him down to the parking lot. The cold drizzle hadn't let up; Marian shivered inside her coat. How could it turn cold that quickly? Yesterday had still been late summer.