River, or tied up in butcher paper, a piece at a time. And let me tell you, ace, if there’s one thing Valentine hates more than a fuckup, it’s a do-nothing.”
“He lost his job?”
“That’s what the commish would tell you. It’s probably even what he believes. He never gets involved in the details of the severance arrangements.”
“That’s your department?”
Archer smiled. “Hey, I figured why just cut a guy loose when he’s got those kinds of secrets to spill? So I slipped a word to the brethren about what he’d been up to. Last I heard, he’d retired. To three different boroughs, all at the same time. In butcher paper, you know?”
Archer seemed to get a thrill out of Cain’s queasy reaction. Archer threw back the handle, and the jolting elevator resumed its descent. The doors slid open onto the marble lobby, empty as before. Cain stepped off, then turned so they were face to face across the opening.
“Your name’s Archer, right?”
“Linwood Archer. You’ll be hearing from me.”
“Valentine said my contact is supposed to be Lieutenant Meyer.”
“Officially, yes. I’m more on the efficiency side of things.”
“Efficiency,” Cain repeated, pondering the implications.
“You got something to report, you give it to me. Let me worry about Meyer.”
“What’s your rank and title?”
Archer smiled. The doors slid shut.
When Cain got back to the station house, he opened the departmental phone directory and flipped the pages to the first letter of the alphabet.
There was no listing for Linwood Archer.
4
ON THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Cain managed to arouse the suspicion of his colleagues and get pulled off his one and only murder investigation, all before he’d poured his first cup of coffee. He set those events in motion when Captain Mulhearn caught him rummaging through a tray of arrest reports in the 95 Room, while the two duty officers obliviously compared snapshots from a recent fishing trip.
“Looking for something, Citizen Cain?”
The duty officers looked up abruptly, as if noticing Cain’s presence for the first time.
“They, uh, seem to have misfiled my paperwork from the other day,” Cain said.
“We did?” one of the 95 men answered, an officer named Steele.
“Well, it won’t be in the overnight basket, as you well know,” Mulhearn said. “Maybe next time one of you two nimrods will take notice when this fox enters the henhouse.”
“Sure, Cap’n.” Steele held up one of the snapshots. “Hey, did you get a load of these cods Rose hooked off Long Island? Ten pounders!”
Mulhearn shook his head.
“Sorry,” Cain mumbled. “I’m still learning where everything goes around here.”
A feeble excuse, although it would have been more convincing if he hadn’t blushed a deep red. Mulhearn steered him toward the door. When they were out in the hallway he backed Cain against the wall.
“Listen, Citizen Cain.” Cain already disliked the nickname, which Mulhearn had presumably taken from the overblown movie that had come out the previous fall. “Just ’cause you’re a detective sergeant with some juice don’t mean that I can’t assign you to switchboard duty for a month. But maybe that would be right down your alley, answering everybody’s calls for them.”
Cain tried not to look away. Maybe this was how the doomed cop in Brooklyn got started toward his dismembered “retirement.”
“I don’t know what you were really looking for in there, Cain, but since you already seem interested in branching out your duties, how ’bout we go make some adjustments to your schedule? Upstairs.”
When they reached the second floor, Mulhearn steered Cain by the arm across the floor of the squad room—the wide, shallow chamber where all the detectives worked. He tugged Cain to the board along one side where the duty rosters were posted. By now, every man in the room was watching.
“Here we go,” he said, talking loudly enough for all to hear. “This floater
“He lost his job?”
“That’s what the commish would tell you. It’s probably even what he believes. He never gets involved in the details of the severance arrangements.”
“That’s your department?”
Archer smiled. “Hey, I figured why just cut a guy loose when he’s got those kinds of secrets to spill? So I slipped a word to the brethren about what he’d been up to. Last I heard, he’d retired. To three different boroughs, all at the same time. In butcher paper, you know?”
Archer seemed to get a thrill out of Cain’s queasy reaction. Archer threw back the handle, and the jolting elevator resumed its descent. The doors slid open onto the marble lobby, empty as before. Cain stepped off, then turned so they were face to face across the opening.
“Your name’s Archer, right?”
“Linwood Archer. You’ll be hearing from me.”
“Valentine said my contact is supposed to be Lieutenant Meyer.”
“Officially, yes. I’m more on the efficiency side of things.”
“Efficiency,” Cain repeated, pondering the implications.
“You got something to report, you give it to me. Let me worry about Meyer.”
“What’s your rank and title?”
Archer smiled. The doors slid shut.
When Cain got back to the station house, he opened the departmental phone directory and flipped the pages to the first letter of the alphabet.
There was no listing for Linwood Archer.
4
ON THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Cain managed to arouse the suspicion of his colleagues and get pulled off his one and only murder investigation, all before he’d poured his first cup of coffee. He set those events in motion when Captain Mulhearn caught him rummaging through a tray of arrest reports in the 95 Room, while the two duty officers obliviously compared snapshots from a recent fishing trip.
“Looking for something, Citizen Cain?”
The duty officers looked up abruptly, as if noticing Cain’s presence for the first time.
“They, uh, seem to have misfiled my paperwork from the other day,” Cain said.
“We did?” one of the 95 men answered, an officer named Steele.
“Well, it won’t be in the overnight basket, as you well know,” Mulhearn said. “Maybe next time one of you two nimrods will take notice when this fox enters the henhouse.”
“Sure, Cap’n.” Steele held up one of the snapshots. “Hey, did you get a load of these cods Rose hooked off Long Island? Ten pounders!”
Mulhearn shook his head.
“Sorry,” Cain mumbled. “I’m still learning where everything goes around here.”
A feeble excuse, although it would have been more convincing if he hadn’t blushed a deep red. Mulhearn steered him toward the door. When they were out in the hallway he backed Cain against the wall.
“Listen, Citizen Cain.” Cain already disliked the nickname, which Mulhearn had presumably taken from the overblown movie that had come out the previous fall. “Just ’cause you’re a detective sergeant with some juice don’t mean that I can’t assign you to switchboard duty for a month. But maybe that would be right down your alley, answering everybody’s calls for them.”
Cain tried not to look away. Maybe this was how the doomed cop in Brooklyn got started toward his dismembered “retirement.”
“I don’t know what you were really looking for in there, Cain, but since you already seem interested in branching out your duties, how ’bout we go make some adjustments to your schedule? Upstairs.”
When they reached the second floor, Mulhearn steered Cain by the arm across the floor of the squad room—the wide, shallow chamber where all the detectives worked. He tugged Cain to the board along one side where the duty rosters were posted. By now, every man in the room was watching.
“Here we go,” he said, talking loudly enough for all to hear. “This floater
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