up the street. A couple walking towards us took a step into the street to get out of our way.
"You need to find Wheeler."
"Yep," I said. "Sooner rather than later."
"She should've called it in," he said. "And you should've bagged the flower."
"She'd already handled it, tossed it in her backpack. As for calling it in, what's she supposed to say? The guy acquitted of murdering her mom twelve years ago might be back for her? Or maybe somebody likes leaving flowers at her door?"
"It'd still be a place to start," he said.
"I hear what you're saying, but I know how I would've answered the call and you do, too. You'd take her name and a number and wait for something to happen. Except that might be too late."
We walked another half block in silence. A stab of pain lanced its way through my abdomen and I winced. It didn't hurt that much, but I couldn't help but wonder. Gas? Or cancer? I put it in the back of my head to deal with later.
Kransky, deep in thought, hadn't noticed. "Why me?"
I stepped carefully over the broken remnants of a cement sidewalk slab, victim of the roots of a large, sidewalk-bound oak tree. "Because you've been mad about this for twelve years. Because you felt like we let this girl down when Wheeler walked out of that courtroom."
"Because you need my help," he said.
"That, too."
"Why don't you ask Dods?" he asked, talking about my last partner, Kransky's replacement after he left Homicide to get away from me.
"Dods is a great guy, but he doesn't have the motivation you or I do to see Wheeler put away. He might do it as a favor to me, but the Lane case was just a headline to him when it happened. For us, it's something we lived through."
"Dods is Homicide. I'm Vice. He'd be in a better position."
"Maybe. I'll ask if I have to, but I thought you'd want a piece of this."
Kransky put his head down, his chin almost touching his chest as he walked, then shuddered. "Wheeler should've never gotten off in the first place."
"I agree," I said. "But it's ancient history. We have to focus on what's happening now."
"You can't talk about the one without the other," he said. "We had that son-of-a-bitch nailed to the wall and he walked. If that hadn't happened, we wouldn't be talking now."
"I can't think about that."
"You'd better. If he's really after the girl, you better look in the mirror damn hard and ask yourself how he got off that time and how it's not going to happen again. He strolled right out of the courtroom and now he's back in her life like nothing ever happened."
"I was there, Jim," I said. "You don't have to remind me."
"So show some fucking remorse, then."
My jaw worked as I tried to keep my temper. "Don't tell me what I did or didn't feel. I wanted Wheeler as badly as you did. I wasn't exactly handing out cigars when he got off Scott free. You're not the only one who was invested in it."
"But you were the only one in charge of the case, Marty ," he said, stopping and jabbing a finger in my chest. "The rest of us got to stand by and watch it go down the tubes. A good woman died, a girl got orphaned, and we got to watch Wheeler walk out with a smile on his face because you screwed up."
My temper flared and I resisted the urge to take a swing. In the time it took to walk a few city blocks, Kransky had managed to peel back the layers, exposing all of the anger and disgust and self-recrimination I'd buried over the last twelve years. It didn't matter that his accusations were blown out of proportion. I hadn't been working solo on the case, for Christ's sake; there was plenty of lapsed responsibility to go around, from the beat cops to the prosecutor. But blame and guilt don't get used up by sharing; we all have an inexhaustible supply in our emotional wells. The sense of unfairness and rage I'd felt the day of the trial boiled right back up from the depths where I'd buried it, almost scaring me with how close to the surface, how raw and immediate, it was. I pointed a finger at him.
"First,
"You need to find Wheeler."
"Yep," I said. "Sooner rather than later."
"She should've called it in," he said. "And you should've bagged the flower."
"She'd already handled it, tossed it in her backpack. As for calling it in, what's she supposed to say? The guy acquitted of murdering her mom twelve years ago might be back for her? Or maybe somebody likes leaving flowers at her door?"
"It'd still be a place to start," he said.
"I hear what you're saying, but I know how I would've answered the call and you do, too. You'd take her name and a number and wait for something to happen. Except that might be too late."
We walked another half block in silence. A stab of pain lanced its way through my abdomen and I winced. It didn't hurt that much, but I couldn't help but wonder. Gas? Or cancer? I put it in the back of my head to deal with later.
Kransky, deep in thought, hadn't noticed. "Why me?"
I stepped carefully over the broken remnants of a cement sidewalk slab, victim of the roots of a large, sidewalk-bound oak tree. "Because you've been mad about this for twelve years. Because you felt like we let this girl down when Wheeler walked out of that courtroom."
"Because you need my help," he said.
"That, too."
"Why don't you ask Dods?" he asked, talking about my last partner, Kransky's replacement after he left Homicide to get away from me.
"Dods is a great guy, but he doesn't have the motivation you or I do to see Wheeler put away. He might do it as a favor to me, but the Lane case was just a headline to him when it happened. For us, it's something we lived through."
"Dods is Homicide. I'm Vice. He'd be in a better position."
"Maybe. I'll ask if I have to, but I thought you'd want a piece of this."
Kransky put his head down, his chin almost touching his chest as he walked, then shuddered. "Wheeler should've never gotten off in the first place."
"I agree," I said. "But it's ancient history. We have to focus on what's happening now."
"You can't talk about the one without the other," he said. "We had that son-of-a-bitch nailed to the wall and he walked. If that hadn't happened, we wouldn't be talking now."
"I can't think about that."
"You'd better. If he's really after the girl, you better look in the mirror damn hard and ask yourself how he got off that time and how it's not going to happen again. He strolled right out of the courtroom and now he's back in her life like nothing ever happened."
"I was there, Jim," I said. "You don't have to remind me."
"So show some fucking remorse, then."
My jaw worked as I tried to keep my temper. "Don't tell me what I did or didn't feel. I wanted Wheeler as badly as you did. I wasn't exactly handing out cigars when he got off Scott free. You're not the only one who was invested in it."
"But you were the only one in charge of the case, Marty ," he said, stopping and jabbing a finger in my chest. "The rest of us got to stand by and watch it go down the tubes. A good woman died, a girl got orphaned, and we got to watch Wheeler walk out with a smile on his face because you screwed up."
My temper flared and I resisted the urge to take a swing. In the time it took to walk a few city blocks, Kransky had managed to peel back the layers, exposing all of the anger and disgust and self-recrimination I'd buried over the last twelve years. It didn't matter that his accusations were blown out of proportion. I hadn't been working solo on the case, for Christ's sake; there was plenty of lapsed responsibility to go around, from the beat cops to the prosecutor. But blame and guilt don't get used up by sharing; we all have an inexhaustible supply in our emotional wells. The sense of unfairness and rage I'd felt the day of the trial boiled right back up from the depths where I'd buried it, almost scaring me with how close to the surface, how raw and immediate, it was. I pointed a finger at him.
"First,
Similar Books
