knives. They’ll love the stone knives.”
“The local papers already figured it out. Five minutes after the news came across on the Indian angle, we were getting calls on Bluebird. StarTribune, Pioneer Press, all the stations. AP’s got it on the wire,” said Anderson.
“Like flies on a dead cat,” Sloan said to Lester.
“So we’re setting up a team, just like we did with the Maddog. I’ll announce it at a press conference tomorrow morning,” said Daniel. “Frank will run the out-front investigation and handle the press on a daily basis. Harmon will get the database going again. Just like with the Maddog. Every goddamn scrap of information, okay? Notebooks for everybody.”
“I’ll set it up tonight,” Anderson said. “I’ll get somebody to duplicate copies of the Bluebird mug shot.”
“Good. Get me a bunch for the press conference.” Daniel turned to Sloan. “I want you to backtrack everybody connected with Bluebird. He’s our hold on this thing. If we get an ID on the New York killer, I want you to track down everybody who knew him. You’ll be pretty much independent, but you report to Anderson every day, every move. Everything you get goes into the database.”
“Sure,” Sloan nodded.
“Lucas, you’re on your own, just like with the Maddog,” Daniel said. “Our contacts with the Indian community are fuckin’ terrible. You’re the only guy who has any.”
“Not many,” said Lucas.
“They’re all we got,” said Daniel.
“What about bringing in Larry Hart? We’ve used him before . . . .”
“Good.” Daniel snapped his fingers and pointed at Lester. “Call Welfare tomorrow and ask them if we can detach Hart as a resource guy. We’ll pick up his salary.”
“What is he?” asked Sloan. “Chippewa?”
“Sioux,” said Lucas.
“He’s strange, is what he is,” said Anderson. “He’s got some genealogical stuff stored away in the city computers. The systems guys would shit if they knew about it.”
Lucas shrugged. “He’s an okay guy.”
“So let’s get him,” said Daniel. He stood up and paced slowly away from his desk, his hands in his pants pockets. “What else?”
Bluebird’s funeral would be monitored. Intelligence would attempt to identify everyone who attended and run histories on them. Sloan would build a list of friends and relatives who might have known about Bluebird’s activities. They would be interviewed by selected Narcotics and Intelligence detectives. Anderson would press the Jersey cops for any available details on the killer’s appearance and his car and run them against known Indian felons from Minnesota, Wisconsin, Nebraska and the Dakotas.
“It’ll be a fuckin’ circus, starting bright and early tomorrow morning,” said Daniel. “And I’ll tell you what: When this New York guy gets here, I want us on top of this thing. I want us to look good, not like a bunch of rube assholes.”
Anderson cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s a guy, chief. I think it’s a woman,” he said.
Sloan and Lucas glanced at each other. “What are you talking about?” asked Sloan.
“We told you, didn’t we? No? The goddamn Andretti family is putting the screws on the New York cops. They want to send somebody out here to observe our investigation,” said Daniel. He turned to Anderson. “You say it’s a woman?”
“Yeah. That’s what I understood. Unless they got male cops named Lillian. She’s a lieutenant.”
“Huh,” said Daniel. He stroked his chin, as though grooming a goatee. “Whoever it is, I can guarantee she’s heavy-duty.”
“Where’ll we put her?” asked Lester.
“Let her work with Sloan,” Daniel said. “That’ll give hersome time on the street. Give her the feeling she’s doing something.”
He looked around the room. “Anything else? No? Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER
5
The barbershop had one chair, a turn-of-the-century model with a cracked black leather seat. A mirror was mounted on the wall behind
“The local papers already figured it out. Five minutes after the news came across on the Indian angle, we were getting calls on Bluebird. StarTribune, Pioneer Press, all the stations. AP’s got it on the wire,” said Anderson.
“Like flies on a dead cat,” Sloan said to Lester.
“So we’re setting up a team, just like we did with the Maddog. I’ll announce it at a press conference tomorrow morning,” said Daniel. “Frank will run the out-front investigation and handle the press on a daily basis. Harmon will get the database going again. Just like with the Maddog. Every goddamn scrap of information, okay? Notebooks for everybody.”
“I’ll set it up tonight,” Anderson said. “I’ll get somebody to duplicate copies of the Bluebird mug shot.”
“Good. Get me a bunch for the press conference.” Daniel turned to Sloan. “I want you to backtrack everybody connected with Bluebird. He’s our hold on this thing. If we get an ID on the New York killer, I want you to track down everybody who knew him. You’ll be pretty much independent, but you report to Anderson every day, every move. Everything you get goes into the database.”
“Sure,” Sloan nodded.
“Lucas, you’re on your own, just like with the Maddog,” Daniel said. “Our contacts with the Indian community are fuckin’ terrible. You’re the only guy who has any.”
“Not many,” said Lucas.
“They’re all we got,” said Daniel.
“What about bringing in Larry Hart? We’ve used him before . . . .”
“Good.” Daniel snapped his fingers and pointed at Lester. “Call Welfare tomorrow and ask them if we can detach Hart as a resource guy. We’ll pick up his salary.”
“What is he?” asked Sloan. “Chippewa?”
“Sioux,” said Lucas.
“He’s strange, is what he is,” said Anderson. “He’s got some genealogical stuff stored away in the city computers. The systems guys would shit if they knew about it.”
Lucas shrugged. “He’s an okay guy.”
“So let’s get him,” said Daniel. He stood up and paced slowly away from his desk, his hands in his pants pockets. “What else?”
Bluebird’s funeral would be monitored. Intelligence would attempt to identify everyone who attended and run histories on them. Sloan would build a list of friends and relatives who might have known about Bluebird’s activities. They would be interviewed by selected Narcotics and Intelligence detectives. Anderson would press the Jersey cops for any available details on the killer’s appearance and his car and run them against known Indian felons from Minnesota, Wisconsin, Nebraska and the Dakotas.
“It’ll be a fuckin’ circus, starting bright and early tomorrow morning,” said Daniel. “And I’ll tell you what: When this New York guy gets here, I want us on top of this thing. I want us to look good, not like a bunch of rube assholes.”
Anderson cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s a guy, chief. I think it’s a woman,” he said.
Sloan and Lucas glanced at each other. “What are you talking about?” asked Sloan.
“We told you, didn’t we? No? The goddamn Andretti family is putting the screws on the New York cops. They want to send somebody out here to observe our investigation,” said Daniel. He turned to Anderson. “You say it’s a woman?”
“Yeah. That’s what I understood. Unless they got male cops named Lillian. She’s a lieutenant.”
“Huh,” said Daniel. He stroked his chin, as though grooming a goatee. “Whoever it is, I can guarantee she’s heavy-duty.”
“Where’ll we put her?” asked Lester.
“Let her work with Sloan,” Daniel said. “That’ll give hersome time on the street. Give her the feeling she’s doing something.”
He looked around the room. “Anything else? No? Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER
5
The barbershop had one chair, a turn-of-the-century model with a cracked black leather seat. A mirror was mounted on the wall behind
Similar Books
