Good Morning, Killer - April Smith [26]
Relationships? This was not Galloway-speak. “Kelsey can provide some insights.”
“I really want to do what you do,” Kelsey said.
“I’ve been doing it ten years,” I replied darkly.
“I hope to learn from you,” she swooned, “and not make the same mistakes you made.”
Just the kind of insight I needed.
Galloway tapped the unlit cigar in a clean ashtray. “What’s the status over there?”
“You mean the Santa Monica kidnapping?”
“No, the Lakers game. Jesus Christ, Ana, don’t give me a lot of shit.”
Irritable.
“All the mechanisms are in place but no new ransom calls. We’re developing two suspects: one is the mom’s ex-boyfriend, the other a white male seen with Juliana on the Promenade. With the information we have right now, we believe the suspect may be a drug dealer from Arizona, which doesn’t rule out the unsubs from the east—”
“Is this a high-risk victim?” interrupted Kelsey Owen. “Is she known to use drugs or prostitute herself on the street?”
I gritted my teeth. Why me?
“No, she is not high-risk, and yes, we know all about the victimology. These are questions we have asked, and continue to ask, since Day One. Believe me, we are living with it night and day.”
I realized from Galloway’s narrowing expression I had better put the brakes on my Inner Bitch.
“The Santa Monica police are developing the lead on Arizona,” I said flatly and finally. “It’ll all be up on Rapid Start. Do you know how to access Rapid Start?”
“I’ll find out,” Kelsey promised brightly.
I gave her a worn-out smile; that’s what it’s like up here in the stratosphere.
“I wanted you two to meet because it’s an interesting case and I thought you would get along,” Galloway intoned. “Sisters in crime.”
I had stopped listening. I was thinking about a Subway sandwich and a bag of chips.
“And on top of that, Ana is a natural to be a mentor.”
“Listen,” Kelsey was saying, “it doesn’t have to be a formal thing—”
“What doesn’t?”
“—because I’m still officially on the national security squad, so you can copy me the material and we can have coffee whenever you—”
I was prancing like a little kid who had to pee. Don’t do this to me!
“This is really not a good time—”
Galloway was mouthing the cigar thoughtfully. “You say Santa Monica is handling the possible link to Arizona?”
“Yes.”
“I want us to do it.”
“Why?” My stomach tightened. “They’ve got a senior detective on it, very competent guy—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Galloway replied. “Headquarters is going to want no doubt about who makes this case.”
“What happened to the ‘new politics’?” I was riled. I was pissed. I did not want to have another conversation about this with Andrew. “I thought we were supposed to share.”
“Sharing is good. As long as we get the bigger piece. You have a problem?”
“I guess it’s been a while since I was in the sandbox.”
The phone was ringing. Kelsey was giving me a sisterly shrug.
“Yeah, Rick,” said Galloway, dismissing us both with a wave of the stogie. “What’ve you got?”
The surveillance team had been in place. That night it was a pair of rookies, I don’t know their names. As usual there had been little movement on the tranquil street since the last of the dog walkers, around eight. Lights were on in the Meyer-Murphy home, where day and night had merged into what Willie John Black would call a “candlelight situation,” wonderfully descriptive, if you think about it, of a halftone state in which the present and future are equally without meaning or illumination.
The first verbal report stated, “Someone is walking up the street.”
This was transmitted to walkie-talkies inside the house and recording equipment in the Bureau and command center.
“Walking slowly. Weaving. Possibly intoxicated.”
Someone muttered, “Ten-four,” to let the guys in the car know somewhere in the city another human was listening.
“I think it’s a female. Can’t tell in the fog.” More alert: “She’s heading up the path.”
In reply, Eunice Shaw’s voice from inside the house was sharp. You could sense her bearing down since the cell phone incident.
“I can see somebody out there,