Bone Thief by Thomas O' Callaghan

his back, his squad commanders sarcastically called him “the World’s Greatest Detective” due to his constant meddling and ridiculous suggestions. Basic investigative work escaped him. Over the years, the nickname had been shortened to simply the “World’s Greatest.” He had risen directly from the rank of Inspector to Chief of Detectives, skipping over several more qualified candidates. It was widely rumored that he had some politician in his pocket. Nothing else could explain how he had gotten so far. After seating himself at the head of the table, he nodded to the midlevel ranks and turned his attention to Margaret.
    â€œHow nice to see you again, Sergeant.” He fancied himself a ladies’ man.
    â€œThank you, Chief.” The man made her skin crawl.
    â€œNow, John, what have you got for me?” he asked, turning his attention to Driscoll.
    â€œChief, we’ve been proceeding in the usual manner, but nothing concrete has turned up yet.”
    â€œGoddamn it. That’s not what I want to hear. I’ve got the Police Commissioner calling me every hour. The Mayor’s office has been all over me, and the goddamn press is up my ass. And all you can tell me is that you have nothing concrete? What the hell are we paying you for?”
    Walters broke the tirade.
    â€œChief, John is our best squad commander. Everything that can be done is being done. Maybe it’s time to start a Task Force. Let him pull in some people from other squads.”
    â€œGive him whatever he wants,” barked Santangelo. “But if I don’t see some progress, he’s gone. Can I make it any clearer? This guy is butchering women on my watch, and I won’t stand for it. I won’t.” Santangelo looked at his watch. “I’ve got a briefing with the Police Commissioner in five minutes. I’ll leave Chief Walters to work out the details with you. Whatever the hell you need. Just get it done, or I’ll find someone that will. Can I make it any clearer?” The Chief stood up, and made a quick exit. Driscoll wanted to haul off and punch the bastard.
    Walters leaned over and put his hand on Driscoll’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personal. It’s just his way.”
    Driscoll scanned the room. Everyone avoided his gaze but Margaret. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, letting her know that he was all right.
    â€œOK, John, whadya need?” asked Walters.
    â€œThree and thirty,” Driscoll replied, letting the Chief know he wanted three sergeants and thirty detectives. “And Chief, I don’t want any deadbeats.”
    It was well known in the Bureau that when a Task Force was formed, a sharp squad commander would unload his worst detectives. That, Driscoll was hoping, would not be the case here.
    â€œYour call. You put the names together and give them to me. How are you fixed for cars?”
    â€œI figure I’ll need ten additional cars, and a surveillance van.”
    Walters turned his attention to a slim, suited man seated across the table from him.
    â€œInspector Malloy, you will arrange that with Fleet Services. And call Gallagher over at the Technical Aide Response Unit (or TARU, as some call it) and give him a heads-up. Anything else, John?”
    â€œNot that I can think of now, Chief.”
    â€œYou gonna run this out of your office?”
    â€œYes, sir. I have everything I’ll need there.”
    â€œOK, any questions? No? Dismissed.” All the nameless suits got up and walked out.
    â€œJohn, you and Margaret stay here for a minute,” said Walters. When the room was empty, the Chief spoke. “I know you two are doing everything you can. Don’t let Santangelo wear you down. If any squad commander can get to the bottom of this one, you can. If you need anything on the QT, you come directly to me. You got that?”
    Driscoll nodded his head.
    â€œI’ll want daily updates. And