sputtered.
“I give up,” Tracchio said, picking up his stapler and banging it down on his desk. “I don’t understand you. I never will. I give up, Boxer!”
I don’t remember leaving the chief’s office, but I do remember a long walk to the stairway, a strained smile on my face as people called out their congratulations when I passed their desks.
My mind was cycling on a short loop.
What the hell had I been thinking?
And what did I want?
I found the stairwell and was leaning heavily on the banister, making my way down to the squad room, when I saw Jacobi coming up the other way.
“
Warren
, you’re not going to
believe
this.”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
We took the stairs to the ground floor and out onto Bryant, heading toward the Flower Mart.
“Tracchio called me last night,” Jacobi said as we walked. I looked up at him. Jacobi and I have never had any secrets from each other, but I read pain on his face, and that jolted me.
“He offered me the job, Lindsay. Your job. But I told him I wouldn’t take it unless it was okay with you.”
The rumble under my feet was surely the Caltrain coming into the station, but it felt like an earthquake.
I knew what I was supposed to say:
Congratulations. Brilliant choice. You’ll be great, Jacobi
.
But I couldn’t get out the words.
“I need some time to think, Jacobi. I’m taking the day off,” I sputtered.
“Sure, Lindsay. Nobody’s going to do anything unless —”
“Maybe
two
days.”
“Lindsay, stop! Talk to me.”
But I was gone.
I jaywalked across the street. Got my car out of the lot and drove down Bryant to Sixth, and from there got onto 280 South, heading toward Potrero Hill.
I jerked my phone off my belt and autodialed Joe’s cell phone as I drove, listened to the ring tone as I floored my Explorer and took it into the fast lane.
It was one p.m. in Washington.
Pick up, Joe!
The ring went into his voice mail, so I left a message: “
Call me. Please
.”
Then I phoned San Francisco General.
I asked the operator to put me through to Claire.
Chapter 25
I WAS HOPING TO HEAR Claire’s voice, but Edmund answered the phone. He sounded as if he’d spent another night sleeping in a chair.
“How is she?” I asked through the crimp in my throat.
“Having another MRI,” he said.
“Tell Claire we got the shooter,” I said. “He confessed, and we’ve got him locked up.”
I told Edmund that I’d check in with Claire later, then I dialed Joe again. This time I got the voice mail at his office, so I tried him at home.
Got his voice mail there, too.
I braked at the light on Eighteenth Street, tapped my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, stepped on the gas as the light turned green.
An old memory came into my mind — the day I’d been promoted to lieutenant on the heels of bringing down the “bride and groom killer,” a psycho who’d surely earned a top-ten ranking in the Most-Depraved-Criminal Hall of Fame. At the time, I viewed my promotion as pretty much a political appointment. No woman had held the job before. I’d stepped up, let them pin a gold shield on me, without ever knowing if the power and responsibility of the job were what I wanted.
I guess I still didn’t know.
I
had
asked to be put back on the line, so of course Tracchio didn’t understand my reaction.
Shit
. I didn’t understand it myself.
But sometimes you couldn’t know a thing until you were there.
A dotted-line reporting to Tracchio was bullshit.
I’d be going backward in rank.
Could I handle taking orders from Jacobi?
“I told him I wouldn’t take it unless it was okay with you,” he’d said.
I needed to talk to Joe.
I pulled the phone back from the passenger seat and hit redial, the sound of Joe’s voice on his outgoing message calling up so many memories: the storybook trips we’d taken together, our lovemaking, little things about Joe that I adored — every moment savored because I didn’t
“I give up,” Tracchio said, picking up his stapler and banging it down on his desk. “I don’t understand you. I never will. I give up, Boxer!”
I don’t remember leaving the chief’s office, but I do remember a long walk to the stairway, a strained smile on my face as people called out their congratulations when I passed their desks.
My mind was cycling on a short loop.
What the hell had I been thinking?
And what did I want?
I found the stairwell and was leaning heavily on the banister, making my way down to the squad room, when I saw Jacobi coming up the other way.
“
Warren
, you’re not going to
believe
this.”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
We took the stairs to the ground floor and out onto Bryant, heading toward the Flower Mart.
“Tracchio called me last night,” Jacobi said as we walked. I looked up at him. Jacobi and I have never had any secrets from each other, but I read pain on his face, and that jolted me.
“He offered me the job, Lindsay. Your job. But I told him I wouldn’t take it unless it was okay with you.”
The rumble under my feet was surely the Caltrain coming into the station, but it felt like an earthquake.
I knew what I was supposed to say:
Congratulations. Brilliant choice. You’ll be great, Jacobi
.
But I couldn’t get out the words.
“I need some time to think, Jacobi. I’m taking the day off,” I sputtered.
“Sure, Lindsay. Nobody’s going to do anything unless —”
“Maybe
two
days.”
“Lindsay, stop! Talk to me.”
But I was gone.
I jaywalked across the street. Got my car out of the lot and drove down Bryant to Sixth, and from there got onto 280 South, heading toward Potrero Hill.
I jerked my phone off my belt and autodialed Joe’s cell phone as I drove, listened to the ring tone as I floored my Explorer and took it into the fast lane.
It was one p.m. in Washington.
Pick up, Joe!
The ring went into his voice mail, so I left a message: “
Call me. Please
.”
Then I phoned San Francisco General.
I asked the operator to put me through to Claire.
Chapter 25
I WAS HOPING TO HEAR Claire’s voice, but Edmund answered the phone. He sounded as if he’d spent another night sleeping in a chair.
“How is she?” I asked through the crimp in my throat.
“Having another MRI,” he said.
“Tell Claire we got the shooter,” I said. “He confessed, and we’ve got him locked up.”
I told Edmund that I’d check in with Claire later, then I dialed Joe again. This time I got the voice mail at his office, so I tried him at home.
Got his voice mail there, too.
I braked at the light on Eighteenth Street, tapped my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, stepped on the gas as the light turned green.
An old memory came into my mind — the day I’d been promoted to lieutenant on the heels of bringing down the “bride and groom killer,” a psycho who’d surely earned a top-ten ranking in the Most-Depraved-Criminal Hall of Fame. At the time, I viewed my promotion as pretty much a political appointment. No woman had held the job before. I’d stepped up, let them pin a gold shield on me, without ever knowing if the power and responsibility of the job were what I wanted.
I guess I still didn’t know.
I
had
asked to be put back on the line, so of course Tracchio didn’t understand my reaction.
Shit
. I didn’t understand it myself.
But sometimes you couldn’t know a thing until you were there.
A dotted-line reporting to Tracchio was bullshit.
I’d be going backward in rank.
Could I handle taking orders from Jacobi?
“I told him I wouldn’t take it unless it was okay with you,” he’d said.
I needed to talk to Joe.
I pulled the phone back from the passenger seat and hit redial, the sound of Joe’s voice on his outgoing message calling up so many memories: the storybook trips we’d taken together, our lovemaking, little things about Joe that I adored — every moment savored because I didn’t
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