"Speaking of Culver City...we've been playing with the idea of setting up a decoy and doing surveillance for this guy. Take a look at this."
Noah had made a computer chart showing where their perp had committed his assaults, where he'd abducted girls from, and where he'd dumped them. Frank explained the plan, and the captain frowned.
"Now you're definitely out of your jurisdiction."
Frank nodded, deftly conceding a sense of control.
"If you wanted to run with this, we'd have to work with CCPD, get them on our side. It only benefits them in the long run—clears two homicides and a score of rapes for them, and they wouldn't even have to lift a finger. Good deal."
"But we still get credit for it," Foubarelle said absently.
"You still get credit for clearing two murders and a rape, not to mention bagging the Culver City Slayer."
The papers had taken to calling him that and it pissed everybody off. CCPD had to answer a lot of ugly questions and intensify their investigations, which basically meant assisting the LAPD carte blanche. This infuriated McNaughton, the CCPD chief. His mayor had ordered him to work with LAPD because the chief had hinted at nasty repercussions if CCPD didn't cooperate. To his own force, McNaughton had done more than hint. He didn't like that the media was having a field day at his expense and he'd made it very clear to his minions that the Culver City Slayer shit had to stop.
"What if it doesn't work?"
Frank shrugged.
"If the stake doesn't work, at least you can say you've taken a proactive stance and aren't just sitting around with your thumb up your ass."
"You know this is costing a fortune."
"I know, but does the chief want to wait until the guy comes knocking on our door, or does he want us to do everything we can before he kills another twelve-year old. God forbid a very well-connected twelve-year old."
Foubarelle reluctantly agreed to the stake. Frank dipped her head in assent, reminding him they'd have to borrow the decoy from another district. Foubarelle agreed to that, too, and Frank left the office having convinced her boss to enact a plan she barely believed in herself.
His father hadn't talked to him since he'd blown it during the championship game. His chances for a scholarship had slipped away with that intercepted pass and now the old man completely ignored him. The boy thought even the pain from the old days was better than this. He had to find a way to make things right again.
15
The guts of three case reports were spilled across Jill's desk. She and Bobby were looking at similarities between an old shooting of Gough's on 87th, the Mackay case, and a shooting Jill had picked up on 51st. Frank poured a cup of black coffee that smelled like burnt rubber and perched on Jill's desk, poking through the evidence with them.
All three looked up at the blonde girl Noah walked in with. Frank thought she must be a witness and glanced back down at the murder books, but Noah stepped up to her, waiting expectantly.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Detective Kennedy, meet Lieutenant Franco."
Frank was nonplused. Kennedy extended her hand, drawling, "How ya doin?" around a mouthful of gum.
Frank thought Noah was joking. The young woman before her looked more like a Malibu party girclass="underline" shaggy, sun-streaked blonde hair around vibrant brown eyes; tanned and toned arms dangling out of a sleeveless T-shirt with a purple sports bra underneath; baggy, purple harem pants ending in Teva-clad feet. Frank didn't see a detective anywhere in the get-up. Cracking and popping her gum, the woman smiled placidly between Noah and Frank, the latter staring quizzically at her detective.
"She's interested in being our decoy," he explained with his usual boyish enthusiasm.
Frank snorted a dismissive laughing sound, sure now that he was kidding. When he didn't laugh back she became apprehensive.
"I need to see you in my office."
He followed her in and she told him to close the door.
"What the hell's that all about?"
"What's what all about?"
"The girl. She barely looks old enough to cut her own food."
Noah laughed.
"Exactly. She'll be a perfect decoy."
Frank adamantly shook her head, "No way."
"Why not?"
"She's a baby, No. I'm not putting her out there. She'd blow it and get somebody hurt in the process."
"Frank, she's twenty-nine years old. She was a street cop in Corpus Christi for five years, got her shield and worked Narc before she moved out here. She's done undercover. You don't get where she's at by being a baby," he protested.
"Uh-uh." Frank was still shaking her head, and Noah flapped his hands in exasperation.
"Why not?"
"She's too young."
"That's the point, Frank! Who do you want out there, Grandma Moses?"
The higher Noah's voice rose, the lower Frank's got.
"I don't like it, No."
Frank was entrenching herself and Noah took a deep breath, settling on the edge of her desk.
"Alright," he spoke patiently. "Tell me exactly what you don't like."
Aware she was being mollified, Frank thought about pulling rank. But she trusted Noah and was aware of her tendency to be overly conservative. She answered instead, "She's just a kid. How do we know she didn't get promoted for political reasons—"
"Like you did?"
"Like I did. But I was a damn good cop. If she is qualified for this kind of work she sure doesn't look like it or act like it."
Noah grinned. "You're right. She looks like she should be hanging off a surfboard and getting faced on mai-tais every night. But hey, what sort of cop were you at twenty-nine?"
"Let's say I had a little more respect for the position. Look at her."
With a bluntness earned from years of friendship, Noah said, "Frank, everybody knows you were born with a baton coming outta your ass, but she's a narc, for Christ's sake! She can't run around in a suit and badge, so she's a little casual. Big deal."
"Is she on a stake now?"
When Noah shook his head, Frank shrugged, "That's my point. I can't look at her and say, Yeah, I want to trust a whole undercover op to this girl. She just doesn't strike me as very professional. This is a big op, No, and I'm not sending someone out there who doesn't totally have her shit together."
"Okay. I don't know her that well, granted, but her record speaks for itself, and just talking to her you can tell she's bright. I wouldn't say she doesn't have her shit together, and I don't see how you can just by saying hello to her."
"I've been a cop for a while. I think I know a little something about people."
"Well, I think you're wrong here. You're making a snap decision based on very little information. I don't think you're being fair and, frankly, I'm surprised. That's not like you." Noah paused, his sincerity evident. Then he asked, "Would you be so resistant if this was a man?"
Frank clamped her lips together. Her jaw muscles bounced. Noah was right—she wouldn't be nearly as resistant if Kennedy were a man. She knew that she resented it like hell when her colleagues had thought that way about her, and she had to admit the injustice of her attitude.
Nine times out of ten, a woman in a difficult law enforcement position was just as effective as a male. Both were trained to react in a specific manner, both knew what had to be done. Problems happened if a man started feeling responsible for his female partner, for fear of either his own safety or hers. This weakened his reactive instincts, interfered with hers, and put both partners in peril. Frank was irritated to find herself behaving exactly like that.