“How do you explain the fact that they showed up tonight to pump us for details on the case? Don’t they know that’s the fastest way to move to the top of the suspect list? Sounds pretty dumb to me.”
“It’s only dumb if they know we’re looking for dirty cops,” she said. “Right now there are only four people who know we’re thinking that the killers are NYPD. You, me, Cheryl, and Cates. These guys may be a lot smarter than they act. I think they threw a shit fit when we grabbed the case away from them, and they did everything they could not to help us. Then they realized that freezing us out freezes them out. So they decided that offering to be our backup is the best way to stay in the loop and keep tabs on the investigation.”
“I don’t care if they’re dumb or smart. If they’re keeping tabs on us, maybe we should keep tabs on them.”
Kylie lit up. “Zachary Jordan, are you talking about tailing those guys?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Captain Go-by-the-Book would approve of our putting a team on them?” she said.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said.
“Probably no.”
“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not asking her. Right now I don’t give a damn what she says.”
“Listen to the straight arrow talking,” she said, giving me a big grin. “And I thought I was the only cop around here with a reputation for going off the reservation.”
Long before she showed up at Red, Kylie was notorious for breaking the rules any time she felt they were working against her. And although the brass frowns on rogue cops, she always got the job done, so they always looked the other way. Donovan and Boyle smelled rotten, and I was ready to nail them—chain of command be damned.
“You heard the mayor this afternoon,” I said. “Whatever we fucking have to do ‘damn well better happen before Election Day.’ Did that seem like a casual comment?”
“Hell, no. It sounded like a direct order from the top of the food chain. I love the way you think,” she said. “Way to go, partner.”
She picked up her desk phone and dialed. “Hello, it’s Kylie. Oh man, I’m so glad you’re still there. Can I swing by?”
Whatever the response was, it made her laugh. “Great. I’ll pop round in a minute.”
She bolted for the door.
“You mind telling me where you’re going?” I said.
“Matt Smith’s office. I’ll be back in five.”
And with that she was gone.
I just sat there fuming, as though the girl I’d brought to the dance went home with someone else.
Matt Smith? Way to go, partner.
Chapter 61
Joe Salvi stared at the pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove. His mother would have dumped it in the garbage before she would have fed it to Papa. Then his eyes shifted to the woman who had just served it to him.
Teresa was standing at the kitchen counter, opening another bottle of wine. She stopped to kick off her eight-hundred-dollar five-inch heels. Good idea, Teresa. A lady doesn’t want to fall on her ass when she’s swilling down her second two-hundred-dollar bottle of Bruno Giacosa Barolo.
Forty-one years ago she had been the perfect wife, delivering on all three of the only characteristics his mother told him were important. Good in the kitchen, great in the bedroom, and Catholic.
Mama was gone now. And so was Teresa. They still shared a bedroom, but the sex was no longer spectacular. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t any good. Like the sauce.
She had drifted away slowly. She said it was because he was so wrapped up in his work.
His work? What did she think paid for all this? The house? The cars? The clothes? The jewelry? The charities? She gave his money away to whoever had a hand out, and they put her on a pedestal. Fine, if that’s what she needed. But where did she think the money came from? It came from his work.
“Did I tell you she’s remarried now?” Teresa said.
She had been droning on, but he had tuned her out.
“Yes, you told me,” he said. Twice.
“She’s so happy. She married the teacher from John Adams, and now they run their little flower shop together,” Teresa said. “Her husband dies, and two years later another man is sleeping in his bed. Tramp.”
She refilled her wineglass, staring him down as she poured from the new bottle, challenging him to say something about how much she was drinking.
“And she’s so proud of her precious little pig cop son saving the world,” Teresa said. “I’m glad, because it only means that when I get finished with him, it’s going to hurt all the more.”
He laughed. “When you get finished with him? Who died and left you boss?”