together.
Itâs just that she never asked Danny what had happened (she was in a hurry after the party to get to the airport for her Chicago flight, or at least thatâs what she told herself) even though she could see he was shaken by whatever
had
happened.
Itâs just that she didnât see this manâs face then, but she recognizes him now. She knows that heâs one of Dannyâs oldest friends; she knows his name.
Itâs just that sheâs pretty sure her husband didnât know she knew him. Or that she had met him. Or that she had as good as slept with him.
âMs Taylor, have you ever seen this man before? Do you know who he is?â
Claire reckons she has to say something, and better, when the cops are involved, that it be true.
âYes. His name is Gene Peterson.â
Last Night When We Were Young
F owler and Fox. Thatâs what they went by. It always sounded like an old English firm to Nora, makers of saddles, or boots, or marmalade. Fowler and Fox, by Royal Appointment. And by rights it should have been Fox and Fowler, given she does all the work. All right, that isnât entirely true. Just all the legwork, what most people would call the policework. And the fact that it suits her means she isnât resentful, much. Itâs just, when they catch a case, when they arrive at a crime scene, when the whole deal is breaking, is
real
, it has gotten so she can actually sense these waves of apathy, of indifference emanating from her partner, indifference and, worse, actual hostility toward the business in hand. It isnât laziness â sit Detective Ken Fowler at a desk and heâd pull a twelve-hour shift â and it isnât because heâs eight months away from his twenty (although that hasnât exactly helped matters). Heâs always been like this.
He simply doesnât like being out and about. In someone elseâs house, on a call, on patrol, it doesnât matter: if Ken canât be in his own home, he likes to be in the station house. Itâs something deep in his wiring. He is the most domesticated man she has ever met. Even when his marriage was in trouble on account of his wife running about town drinking and screwing around, he still wouldnât stay out for more than a second drink. âIâve got to get home,â he would say, and he would go on saying it for as long as she kept making a fool of him, and after she left him, and when it was more than clear even to him that she was not coming back. âIâve got to get home,â Ken would murmur, and slope off into the night, flicking his hair back from his forehead in that eighties way he had, too much a creature of habit to imagine what his life might be like if he were to contemplate changing it.
So she knows that he will suggest to Claire Taylor that she come down to the station to talk to them there as a matter of course, not because he has weighed up the pros and cons, or thinks she might respond positively to the stimulating environment of an interview room, or has considered whether, because sheâs probably never even been arrested before, she might in response get intimidated and anxious and freak out and lawyer up on them, but simply because he wants to get back to his zone.
Itâs not that heâs a bad detective. Each of the squad, or at least each of them in the West District, which is all she knows about, has at least one major flaw, something the others have to put up with and work around. With Nora, itâs an impatience, a pride in not suffering fools, a harrying, chivying impulse and a caustic tone of voice that can turn a simple cross questioning of a witness â never mind a suspect â into a hectoring confrontation. To guard against which, she has to watch herself like a hawk: no hangovers, no sleepless nights, rigid impulse control. Easy.
With Ken, itâs the urge to bring everyone downtown, no matter how
Itâs just that she never asked Danny what had happened (she was in a hurry after the party to get to the airport for her Chicago flight, or at least thatâs what she told herself) even though she could see he was shaken by whatever
had
happened.
Itâs just that she didnât see this manâs face then, but she recognizes him now. She knows that heâs one of Dannyâs oldest friends; she knows his name.
Itâs just that sheâs pretty sure her husband didnât know she knew him. Or that she had met him. Or that she had as good as slept with him.
âMs Taylor, have you ever seen this man before? Do you know who he is?â
Claire reckons she has to say something, and better, when the cops are involved, that it be true.
âYes. His name is Gene Peterson.â
Last Night When We Were Young
F owler and Fox. Thatâs what they went by. It always sounded like an old English firm to Nora, makers of saddles, or boots, or marmalade. Fowler and Fox, by Royal Appointment. And by rights it should have been Fox and Fowler, given she does all the work. All right, that isnât entirely true. Just all the legwork, what most people would call the policework. And the fact that it suits her means she isnât resentful, much. Itâs just, when they catch a case, when they arrive at a crime scene, when the whole deal is breaking, is
real
, it has gotten so she can actually sense these waves of apathy, of indifference emanating from her partner, indifference and, worse, actual hostility toward the business in hand. It isnât laziness â sit Detective Ken Fowler at a desk and heâd pull a twelve-hour shift â and it isnât because heâs eight months away from his twenty (although that hasnât exactly helped matters). Heâs always been like this.
He simply doesnât like being out and about. In someone elseâs house, on a call, on patrol, it doesnât matter: if Ken canât be in his own home, he likes to be in the station house. Itâs something deep in his wiring. He is the most domesticated man she has ever met. Even when his marriage was in trouble on account of his wife running about town drinking and screwing around, he still wouldnât stay out for more than a second drink. âIâve got to get home,â he would say, and he would go on saying it for as long as she kept making a fool of him, and after she left him, and when it was more than clear even to him that she was not coming back. âIâve got to get home,â Ken would murmur, and slope off into the night, flicking his hair back from his forehead in that eighties way he had, too much a creature of habit to imagine what his life might be like if he were to contemplate changing it.
So she knows that he will suggest to Claire Taylor that she come down to the station to talk to them there as a matter of course, not because he has weighed up the pros and cons, or thinks she might respond positively to the stimulating environment of an interview room, or has considered whether, because sheâs probably never even been arrested before, she might in response get intimidated and anxious and freak out and lawyer up on them, but simply because he wants to get back to his zone.
Itâs not that heâs a bad detective. Each of the squad, or at least each of them in the West District, which is all she knows about, has at least one major flaw, something the others have to put up with and work around. With Nora, itâs an impatience, a pride in not suffering fools, a harrying, chivying impulse and a caustic tone of voice that can turn a simple cross questioning of a witness â never mind a suspect â into a hectoring confrontation. To guard against which, she has to watch herself like a hawk: no hangovers, no sleepless nights, rigid impulse control. Easy.
With Ken, itâs the urge to bring everyone downtown, no matter how
Similar Books
