Katie hesitated, then said, “All right. I trust you.”
Chisolm smiled. “Good.” He held his fingers out toward her hand.
Katie shook her head. “Uh, no. I don’t want to touch that stuff, whatever it is. You do it.”
“Fair enough,” Chisolm said. He reached toward her leg. Just before touching her, he paused. “This might hurt a little.”
“Hurt? But you never said-”
Chisolm smeared the thick yellow goop over the skin of her quadriceps. The cool sensation made her gasp lightly, though it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Then Chisolm dug his fingers into her muscle, rubbing in the ointment.
Katie exhaled sharply. Jolts of pain zipped from her leg outward through her entire body. All of her muscles tightened up. She gripped the sides of the bench with her fingers and let out a quiet curse.
Chisolm said nothing. His strong fingers kneaded her leg muscle, the roughness of his skin scraping and sliding across hers. The two remained silent while the veteran officer worked in the ointment. The coolness spread across her entire outer thigh. She could feel the sensation seeping into the muscle.
Katie noticed that Chisolm focused on her leg with the clinical distance of a family doctor. She wondered for a moment how many of the other men she worked with would be comfortable rubbing medication onto her leg without making it into something more. How many of them would be able to do something like that and then not run off to the rest of the platoon to spill the secret like some kind of schoolboy?
To be fair, she wondered how many men she’d feel safe enough with to let herself be touched? And were there some that she might react to with a hand on her leg? More than one kind of reaction, she decided, depending on who it was.
The last thing she noticed before Chisolm drew his hands away was that he had studiously avoided the inner thigh.
“There,” he said, twisting the cap back onto the container. “Give it about ten minutes to dry before you put anything over the top of it.”
Katie gazed down at her leg. The skin bore a yellow tinge. The cool sensation seemed to be shifting into something warmer in the brief seconds since Chisolm’s touch.
“You want to tell me what it is now?” Katie said. “It’s starting to get warm.”
“Good,” Chisolm said. “It should feel like a heat pad for a few hours.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Chisolm slid the canister back into his pocket. “Well, let me put it this way. Do you remember when you were a kid and had a stuffy nose? Your mom probably put some of that vapor rub stuff on your chest before you went to bed, right?”
“My dad usually did stuff like that,” Katie answered, “but yeah.”
“Well, this is sorta like a Ben-Gay version of that. With a little aspirin mixed in.” Chisolm shrugged, then added, “And a couple of herbal remedies I read about a few years ago.”
Katie looked at him in wonder. “Wow, Tom. I never figured you for a medicine man.”
Chisolm grinned broadly. Katie noticed that the thin white scar that ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth faded into his laugh lines a little when smiled like that.
“Once you hit forty, MacLeod, you look for relief anywhere you can find it,” he said, lifting his pant leg and wiping the excess gel on his own lower calf. “See?”
“Old age and Russians that kick like Chuck Norris,” Katie said. “An odd combination for a cure, even if it is magic juice.”
Chisolm faked a scowl. “Who’s old? I said forty.” Then he smiled and tapped Katie lightly on the shoulder with his left hand. “Rest up, MacLeod. We’re back at it tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Katie said, her gratitude genuine. “And I will. See you tomorrow.”
Chisolm winked at her, rose and left the ladies’ locker room.
2321 hours
Tower sat in Crawford’s office, rubbing his sleepy eyes. The heavy breathing of the Major Crimes Lieutenant irritated him, but he tried to hide his frustration.
“You sure hit a home run with that interview, Tower,” Crawford said sarcastically.
Tower shrugged. “I’m not much of a diplomat.”
“Why exactly is he in custody?”
“We tried to catch a trout and landed a perch.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Tower rubbed his eyes again. “It means he didn’t do the rape, so we lost nothing there. And we have witnesses on the robbery attempt, so who cares what he says?”
“Nice attitude,” Crawford said. “This task force of yours is not only crapping out, but it is causing collateral damage.”
“Collateral what?”
“Collateral damage,” Crawford repeated. “First, you’ve got MacLeod cranking off rounds under the bridge at no one. Now you’re arresting Boris.”
“MacLeod’s thing was an accident,” Tower said in a low voice. “And the Russian tried to rob our decoy.”
“There was nothing accidental about MacLeod firing her duty weapon without cause. It was a choice.”
“It was a reaction.”
“It was a reaction that makes me wonder if you picked the right patrol officers to support your operation, detective,” Crawford snapped. “And when I get called down here in the middle of the night on a goddamn attempted robbery call, something is definitely wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” Tower said. “There’s only about two hundred thousand people in this city. Half are male. That leaves me one hundred thousand suspects. If you filter out non-whites and those too young or too old, that leaves about fifty thousand potential rapists. The odds that this particular guy will bite at our decoy aren’t that great.”
Crawford gave him a dark look. “I’m not interested in odds, Tower. I’m interested in results. You better figure something out.”
“I’m working on it,” Tower said.
“If you can’t handle it, I can put a homicide detective in charge,” Crawford told him.
Tower gritted his teeth. “It’s my case. It’ll make.”
Crawford sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Then what’s your next move?”
“We tried south of Clemons Park and it didn’t work. We’ll try to the north of it next.” He peered at Crawford through sleepy eyes. “What are you going to do about MacLeod’s A.D.?”
“Never mind. Concentrate on catching your bad guy.”
“I just don’t want that hanging over her, is all,” Tower said. “Distracting her.”
“If she’s distracted, replace her.”
“I don’t want to replace her. She’s good.”
“Good at what?” Crawford snapped. “Killing rats or getting robbed?”
“No,” Tower said, his voice tightening up. “She’s good at looking like a victim. She’s good bait.”
“Everybody has to be good at something, I guess.”
Tower clenched his jaw. Why does Crawford have to be such an insufferable prick every day of his life?
“Meanwhile,” the lieutenant said, “keep her focused or replace her. I’ll tell you what we’ll do about the A.D. after I meet with the Captain.”
“I thought this was your operation.”
“Watch it, Tower.”
Tower held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m just asking.”
“What you’re being is a smart ass,” Crawford snarled. “Besides, it is my operation. But MacLeod is Patrol, so I’ll let the Patrol Captain decide what’s to be done about her accidental discharge.”
Tower nodded his understanding.
And I’m sure the two of you will make that decision over a couple of stogies in his office. You prick.
“Anything else you want to say, Tower?”
“No, sir.”
Crawford nodded. “All right, then. Have there been any other developments in your case, besides the screw-ups by your task force team?”
“None,” Tower told him sullenly.
“No lab results? Nothing from Crime Analysis?”
“Nope.”
“Any tips?”
“Nothing credible.”
Crawford swore and rubbed his eye. When he’d finished, he looked up at Tower. He seemed to appraise the detective for a few moments, then said, “Go home and get some sleep. You look like shit.”