FBI, a woman with a golden future in the force. Boy you must piss off your fellow cops.’
‘Let’s get back to the prostitute,’ she said angrily.
‘Let’s not. Let’s stick with you and whether I should put in a complaint of harassment,’ said Kavella.
‘You’ve got no grounds,’ said Rita.
‘I could think of something.’
‘I’m being civil, you shit,’ she said, immediately regretting it.
‘That’s more like it.’ His jaw came forward with contempt. ‘You should lose your cool more often. Makes you seem less like a cold-blooded bitch. Maybe you’re worth a grudge-fuck after all.’
Rita didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough.
He dropped the smile abruptly. ‘Look. I don’t want to piss around anymore. This woman is nothing to me. And as for the card, it’s not mine.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your problem,’ he said.
‘Yours too, if I come back with a warrant,’ Rita countered.
‘You’d be wasting your time, yet again. I’m telling you the card is from somewhere else.’
‘Another Plato’s Cave?’
‘Why not? I didn’t invent the name. It’s been around for a few thousand years.’
‘Yes, but yours has the underworld connections. Hardly surprising a vice case should lead me straight here.’
‘Surprising or not, you’ve picked the wrong cave, Van Hassel. You’ve begun your descent into the underworld in the wrong place.’
He picked up his phone, ignoring her.
She watched him send a brief text message, and a moment later Kavella’s right-hand man, Brendan Moyle, was at her side.
Rita tensed.
Moyle was thick-set and intimidating. A former debt collector, he didn’t hesitate to use violence. He liked to get up close when he inflicted pain and had served time for knee-capping a man with an ice pick.
‘Remember our old friend?’ said Kavella.
‘I don’t see a friend,’ answered Moyle. ‘But I can smell something.’ He pushed his face close to Rita and sniffed loudly. ‘It’s rotting fish.’
It took all Rita’s self-control to avoid reacting.
Moyle laughed.
Kavella remained stony-faced. ‘We’re done,’ he said. ‘For now.’
It was an implied threat and a taunt, but she couldn’t let herself be provoked. She stood up, collected the card and photo, and walked out. Anything else and she’d be suspended.
3
Walking away from Tony Kavella’s office, Rita felt certain that he was assuming a more powerful role in the city’s criminal elite. She’d seen first-hand that he was expanding his influence and reinventing himself with an image makeover, while equipping himself with expensive hi-tech resources. It was entirely possible that Emma Schultz was a casualty of his new initiatives.
As soon as Rita got back to the squad room, Strickland appeared beside her.
His face was tight, but he spoke quietly. ‘Looks like we’re both in for a carpeting.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, though she had a sinking feeling that she’d just overstepped the mark.
‘We’ve been summoned to a meeting in Nash’s office. I get the feeling we’ve trodden on somebody’s toes.’
This was all she needed, thought Rita, as she headed for the lifts and the office of Superintendent Gordon Nash.
‘Is this about today’s headlines?’ she asked Strickland, feigning ignorance.
‘Could be.’ His worry lines were in sharp relief. ‘Maybe Nash has seen a tape of my presser.’
‘How did it go?’
‘It just went.’
They rode up three floors in the lift and then walked down a long corridor towards Nash’s office.
‘Whatever it is, he sounds pissed off.’ Strickland gave a heavy sigh.
‘One way or another, you seem to have ruined my entire day.’
Nash sat at his desk with his hands clasped and his sharp eyes staring over the rims of his glasses. To Nash’s right sat Jack Loftus.
To his left was Detective Inspector Jim Proctor from the Organised Crime Squad. Behind him leant two of his detectives. Strickland
‘Let’s get back to the prostitute,’ she said angrily.
‘Let’s not. Let’s stick with you and whether I should put in a complaint of harassment,’ said Kavella.
‘You’ve got no grounds,’ said Rita.
‘I could think of something.’
‘I’m being civil, you shit,’ she said, immediately regretting it.
‘That’s more like it.’ His jaw came forward with contempt. ‘You should lose your cool more often. Makes you seem less like a cold-blooded bitch. Maybe you’re worth a grudge-fuck after all.’
Rita didn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes was enough.
He dropped the smile abruptly. ‘Look. I don’t want to piss around anymore. This woman is nothing to me. And as for the card, it’s not mine.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your problem,’ he said.
‘Yours too, if I come back with a warrant,’ Rita countered.
‘You’d be wasting your time, yet again. I’m telling you the card is from somewhere else.’
‘Another Plato’s Cave?’
‘Why not? I didn’t invent the name. It’s been around for a few thousand years.’
‘Yes, but yours has the underworld connections. Hardly surprising a vice case should lead me straight here.’
‘Surprising or not, you’ve picked the wrong cave, Van Hassel. You’ve begun your descent into the underworld in the wrong place.’
He picked up his phone, ignoring her.
She watched him send a brief text message, and a moment later Kavella’s right-hand man, Brendan Moyle, was at her side.
Rita tensed.
Moyle was thick-set and intimidating. A former debt collector, he didn’t hesitate to use violence. He liked to get up close when he inflicted pain and had served time for knee-capping a man with an ice pick.
‘Remember our old friend?’ said Kavella.
‘I don’t see a friend,’ answered Moyle. ‘But I can smell something.’ He pushed his face close to Rita and sniffed loudly. ‘It’s rotting fish.’
It took all Rita’s self-control to avoid reacting.
Moyle laughed.
Kavella remained stony-faced. ‘We’re done,’ he said. ‘For now.’
It was an implied threat and a taunt, but she couldn’t let herself be provoked. She stood up, collected the card and photo, and walked out. Anything else and she’d be suspended.
3
Walking away from Tony Kavella’s office, Rita felt certain that he was assuming a more powerful role in the city’s criminal elite. She’d seen first-hand that he was expanding his influence and reinventing himself with an image makeover, while equipping himself with expensive hi-tech resources. It was entirely possible that Emma Schultz was a casualty of his new initiatives.
As soon as Rita got back to the squad room, Strickland appeared beside her.
His face was tight, but he spoke quietly. ‘Looks like we’re both in for a carpeting.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, though she had a sinking feeling that she’d just overstepped the mark.
‘We’ve been summoned to a meeting in Nash’s office. I get the feeling we’ve trodden on somebody’s toes.’
This was all she needed, thought Rita, as she headed for the lifts and the office of Superintendent Gordon Nash.
‘Is this about today’s headlines?’ she asked Strickland, feigning ignorance.
‘Could be.’ His worry lines were in sharp relief. ‘Maybe Nash has seen a tape of my presser.’
‘How did it go?’
‘It just went.’
They rode up three floors in the lift and then walked down a long corridor towards Nash’s office.
‘Whatever it is, he sounds pissed off.’ Strickland gave a heavy sigh.
‘One way or another, you seem to have ruined my entire day.’
Nash sat at his desk with his hands clasped and his sharp eyes staring over the rims of his glasses. To Nash’s right sat Jack Loftus.
To his left was Detective Inspector Jim Proctor from the Organised Crime Squad. Behind him leant two of his detectives. Strickland
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