They walked toward our desks, scowls still on their faces, chips still on their shoulders, and brooms still planted firmly up their asses.
“We figured you’d still be here,” Donovan said.
“That’s the thing about these serial killer cases,” Kylie said. “You don’t get to punch out early. What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? Catch us up.”
“On what?” Kylie.
He laughed. “On what? On the fucking case. Look, you may be calling the shots, but this has been our case from the get-go, and we’re not walking away from—”
Boyle held up his hand. “Calm down,” he said to his partner. Then he turned to Kylie. “I guess you can tell we’re still a little out of joint, but it’s not your fault. It’s just politics, so let’s start over. Okay?”
“Go for it,” Kylie said. “It couldn’t get any worse.”
“Look,” Boyle said, “me and Donovan were blindsided Monday morning. Hazmat was our case. We did the best we could, but let’s face it—the first three victims were all scumbags, and nobody complained that we hadn’t caught the killer. Then Parker-Steele gets whacked, and the case is page one. Now Rachael O’Keefe gets kidnapped, and the whole thing is going global.”
“We don’t have any proof that O’Keefe is connected to Hazmat,” Kylie said.
“The Post doesn’t have any proof either,” Boyle said, “but they’re going with it anyway—home page of their online edition. The point is, Hazmat is even bigger than before, and we don’t want to be known as the two schmuck cops that couldn’t crack it. Monday you said we were assigned to this so-called task force of yours. If we’re still on it, catch us up.”
“Fair enough,” Kylie said. “We found a witness who saw Parker-Steele get into a car.”
“Did they ID the car, or the driver?” Donovan asked.
“There were two suspects,” Kylie said. “She got into the backseat with a man, but the witness couldn’t see who was driving.”
“Two suspects?” Boyle said.
“You sure?” Donovan said. “We’ve been looking for one.”
“And we also have another witness who saw Alex Kang get into a car with two guys,” I said.
They both looked bowled over.
“Son of a bitch,” Donovan said. “You got lucky. We couldn’t find a witness for shit in Chinatown. What kind of car?”
“A black SUV. No make, no model,” I said.
“How about the two men?” Donovan said. “You get a description on them?”
“Just two average white guys like you and me,” I said.
“How about O’Keefe? Anything on her?”
“Two guys took her, so the Post may be right. It’s probably the Hazmat team.”
“You closing in on them?”
“Not closing in,” I said, “but getting closer. We just got some fresh evidence.”
“Fresh evidence like what?” Donovan asked.
“The two who took O’Keefe left a trail. We’re on it, but that’s all we can tell you right now.”
Boyle nodded. “Hey, I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but if you’re closing in on these guys, you’re gonna need backup, right?”
“Probably,” Kylie said.
Boyle shrugged. He knew that “probably” was as much of a commitment as he was going to get.
“Hey, man, you’ve got our cell phones,” he said. “Call anytime.”
Chapter 60
Donovan and Boyle got on the elevator, and Kylie and I waited quietly as they rode to the ground floor.
“I didn’t trust those two when they were trying to undermine us,” she said as the elevator doors opened with a loud clunk that reverbed up the shaft. “I trust them even less now that they want to help.”
“Technically, I think only Boyle wants to help,” I said. “Donovan would probably be happier finding us stuffed into a couple of Hazmat suits. I can’t believe they pulled a good cop/bad cop routine on us.”
“I’m still trying to figure out if they’re smart cops or stupid cops,” she said.
“I vote stupid.”
“We came up with more leads in three days than those bozos did in four months,” she said, “so on the surface they come off as pretty lame.”
“And you think there’s something below the surface?”
“Let’s just say Cheryl is right, and we’re looking for real cops. If Donovan and Boyle are the doers, then they managed to set themselves up as lead detectives by committing the first murder in their jurisdiction. That’s not just smart, it’s brilliant.”