probably be willing to lose a limb in order not to go, is still attending despite the fact everyone claims to be intimate with his unsavory history. And knowing you both, I have to say, his failure was slightly more public.”
Shelley paused, downcast, before withdrawing a framed picture of a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy in a baseball uniform, striking a rather grudging pose, next to a brown-eyed girl of about seven – a fragile-looking creature in comparison. “Is this him?”
Abigail smiled wistfully, face misting with memories. “Yes. When he played Little League. That was taken only a year or so before Arianna died.”
Shelley studied the very serious face of the tall-for-his-age boy and the shining, proud smile of the girl. “I sort of remember him playing with my brothers.” She looked at Abigail. “But I remember Arianna more.”
“Of course. You girls used to play together, and I would make you tea and tiny biscuits for your dolls.”
“Oh yes! We would get all dressed up and have a little party in your garden.” Shelley slumped with the wistfulness of simple days gone by. “I loved that garden.”
“Yes. But it was time to let go. An old house with young neighbors who pitied my seeming loneliness is not my idea of a good retirement.” She smiled with a far-off look. “Besides, I need to be here for Zach.”
Shelley glanced at the picture again, focusing on that cold, deep blue gaze – so familiar. “He has your eyes.”
“Yes,” Abigail replied, gaze fixing on a distant spot. “He does.” Shaking off gathering memories, she briskly inquired, “Now. What is this business I hear about the Purple Gazelle?”
10
On the ninth floor of 1 Police Plaza, percolating coffee grounds hung in the semi-stale air while the sunshine coming through the glass façades took the edge off the fluorescent lighting – particularly the dull, flickering one a couple ceiling rectangles away. Despite the fact it was Saturday, a forest of detectives were present, filing missing person reports, investigating homicides, car theft, burglary, rape – working hard for the green. Zach , however, was just killing time after the preliminary hearing he’d just attended, refusing to meet anyone’s eye so as to discourage chit chat.
Slouched in his chair, he toyed painfully with a 0.7mm BIC while his deep azure eyes stared at his computer’s LED screen, pacifying his thundercloud mood with the latest Homeland Security news: global terrorist updates, border and immigration threats, the pros and cons of allowing the Islamic State to continue using social media, the recent breach on Pentagon computers by Russian hackers, and plans to crack down on the thousands of pregnant Chinese women who paid to give birth in the U.S.
Good stuff.
He heard flirty laughter and glanced irritatedly towards his “partner”, Rick, entering with the department sweetheart, a sexy number who was actually a decent shot. She had a no-dating-coworkers policy, but apparently one-nighters with muscly Italian men didn’t count. And they’d had quite a number. Zach knew because he had to hear about it the next morning. Every goddamn time.
A suited shadow fell over his monitor, and without looking up, Zach asked, “Well? What happened?” He punched a key to close the browser and faced the public prosecutor, striking a nonconformist posture from behind his equally anarchic desk.
Looking theatrically down in the mouth, Carter dragged over the nearest available piece of molded plastic and metal and lowered himself into the flexible chair. “The things I go through for you.” He shook his well-groomed head long-sufferingly, but then a grin crawled across his face, reaching all the way to his hazel eyes. “I talked to the prostitute, told her you were deep in the shit regarding DeJohnette, and she changed her mind about not testifying. She swore under oath that you did not in any way mistreat her or act inappropriate to the situation and
Shelley paused, downcast, before withdrawing a framed picture of a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy in a baseball uniform, striking a rather grudging pose, next to a brown-eyed girl of about seven – a fragile-looking creature in comparison. “Is this him?”
Abigail smiled wistfully, face misting with memories. “Yes. When he played Little League. That was taken only a year or so before Arianna died.”
Shelley studied the very serious face of the tall-for-his-age boy and the shining, proud smile of the girl. “I sort of remember him playing with my brothers.” She looked at Abigail. “But I remember Arianna more.”
“Of course. You girls used to play together, and I would make you tea and tiny biscuits for your dolls.”
“Oh yes! We would get all dressed up and have a little party in your garden.” Shelley slumped with the wistfulness of simple days gone by. “I loved that garden.”
“Yes. But it was time to let go. An old house with young neighbors who pitied my seeming loneliness is not my idea of a good retirement.” She smiled with a far-off look. “Besides, I need to be here for Zach.”
Shelley glanced at the picture again, focusing on that cold, deep blue gaze – so familiar. “He has your eyes.”
“Yes,” Abigail replied, gaze fixing on a distant spot. “He does.” Shaking off gathering memories, she briskly inquired, “Now. What is this business I hear about the Purple Gazelle?”
10
On the ninth floor of 1 Police Plaza, percolating coffee grounds hung in the semi-stale air while the sunshine coming through the glass façades took the edge off the fluorescent lighting – particularly the dull, flickering one a couple ceiling rectangles away. Despite the fact it was Saturday, a forest of detectives were present, filing missing person reports, investigating homicides, car theft, burglary, rape – working hard for the green. Zach , however, was just killing time after the preliminary hearing he’d just attended, refusing to meet anyone’s eye so as to discourage chit chat.
Slouched in his chair, he toyed painfully with a 0.7mm BIC while his deep azure eyes stared at his computer’s LED screen, pacifying his thundercloud mood with the latest Homeland Security news: global terrorist updates, border and immigration threats, the pros and cons of allowing the Islamic State to continue using social media, the recent breach on Pentagon computers by Russian hackers, and plans to crack down on the thousands of pregnant Chinese women who paid to give birth in the U.S.
Good stuff.
He heard flirty laughter and glanced irritatedly towards his “partner”, Rick, entering with the department sweetheart, a sexy number who was actually a decent shot. She had a no-dating-coworkers policy, but apparently one-nighters with muscly Italian men didn’t count. And they’d had quite a number. Zach knew because he had to hear about it the next morning. Every goddamn time.
A suited shadow fell over his monitor, and without looking up, Zach asked, “Well? What happened?” He punched a key to close the browser and faced the public prosecutor, striking a nonconformist posture from behind his equally anarchic desk.
Looking theatrically down in the mouth, Carter dragged over the nearest available piece of molded plastic and metal and lowered himself into the flexible chair. “The things I go through for you.” He shook his well-groomed head long-sufferingly, but then a grin crawled across his face, reaching all the way to his hazel eyes. “I talked to the prostitute, told her you were deep in the shit regarding DeJohnette, and she changed her mind about not testifying. She swore under oath that you did not in any way mistreat her or act inappropriate to the situation and
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